


our longest night

by thetruebanana



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, The Purge (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nolan!Joker, Power Dynamics, Team Up, The Purge!AU, Violence, a lot of dead people - Freeform, be brave Bruce we're here for you, but illiterate men, gotham's cemetery will be very full, no beta we die like men, nolan!verse - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29381976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetruebanana/pseuds/thetruebanana
Summary: When Bruce finds himself outside on the night of the Purge, unarmed and defenseless, only an unexpected alliance will allow him to survive. And who better for that than a murderous and overly obsessive clown?Be prepared, the night may be long.(You don't need to have any knowledge of the Purge to read <3)
Relationships: Joker (DCU) & Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU) & Harleen Quinzel, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 116
Kudos: 144





	1. Chapter 1

_**our longest night** _

**.**

**.**

**Chapter One**

**.**

**.**

Bruce had never wanted to participate in this madness.

He even had wanted to fight it at first. Like many others before him, he had rebelled, had screamed in front of his screen, had refused to take part in this new constitution. It was not moving forward, it was not making progress, it was giving free rein to the madness of men and hoping that a single night of debauchery would bring salvation to their society.

In 2014, after the United States had suffered an unprecedented economic crisis - so strong that Bruce himself had feared for the fate of Wayne Enterprise, for what it would mean if his family's empire collapsed, if he could no longer afford to finance his _second suit_ \- a new political organization had taken the reins of power.

In the beginning, it had been like all the others. New laws to appease the spirits, some concessions made. And three years later, the announcement had dropped.

The Constitution of the United States had been changed. Shattered, tarnished. They had called it a plan, they had called it a means of maintaining order and civil peace but Bruce had not believed their falsehoods. No, it was anything but pacifism.

The announcement had been made and the lives of people in the United States, from the metropolises to the smallest cities, had been changed forever.

Crime had become legal for a temporary period of time.

For twelve hours, one night a year, the slightest crime was within reach. Legalized, encouraged, _approved._ They called this event "THE PURGE" and publicized it on all the news channels.

From now on, the night of March 21-22 became a bloody, _desperate_ night.

Part of the population had been ecstatic about it. Another, much less. They had demonstrated, they had tried to overthrow the government - nothing had been possible. And then, time had passed. Crime had gone down, unemployment had gone down. It had fallen to one percent, and the government had used that to justify their perpetuation of the Purge.

Again. And again.

And again.

And now, five years after the first Purge, Bruce was staring at his television set with clenched teeth, ready to hear the infamous words that the entire people of the United States had been hearing for far too long.

He had tried to protest. Bruce Wayne's style in the first place, with charity galas to change people' minds, meetings with members of the government and well-placed bribes. But it hadn't worked. Bruce Wayne had had to publicly change his mind, under government pressure, had admitted his wrongs. The words had scratched his mouth, burned his lips, and he had bitten his tongue so hard that Alfred had almost had to stitch him up.

Batman-style afterwards.

Going out into the streets on that cursed day, arresting those who perpetrated these crimes. But it was useless, as soon as they were captured, as soon as they were released. And when crime had been low, Batman had been a valuable asset to Gotham, but when out of 10 million people, even 5% chose to participate in the Purge, it was a lost cause.

Then, sick at heart, he had abdicated.

On March 21, 2019, he had taken refuge for the first time in his penthouse, finally benefiting from the security system he had installed as soon as the announcement of the first Purge had been made. Every March 21, a heavy armored curtain sealed the entrance to the Penthouse at 7 p.m.

And once the door was sealed, no one could enter or leave.

Bruce had first implemented this security system for Alfred. He knew that as a public figure in Gotham, Bruce would be a prime target for the Purge participants and he _refused_ to put Alfred's life in danger. The same technology had later been developed by Wayne Enterprise and sold at an extremely reasonable price.

Gradually, all of Gotham City's apartments and houses had been equipped with protection. At least for those who could afford it.

Some were not so lucky.

Bruce sighed. His eyes were glued to the television screen and he was all too aware of Alfred behind him, whose gaze was on Bruce. Alfred knew how much this date was eating away at him, how much Bruce hated himself for not being able to do more, for not being able to get out. But he had promised.

He had promised Alfred that he would stay home that day. It hadn't been easy for his butler, not easy to get Bruce to abdicate. But after Rachel, after Harvey, after everything that had happened, Bruce had needed... a break. Putting the suit back on was out of the question for the moment. After a few months maybe... But the notion of Rachel was still far too vivid in his memory for him to don the suit.

“Are you really sure you want to hear these words? I'm positive that you know them by now. Why not enjoy one of those Indian teas you like so much and... close the curtains?” Alfred slowly asked, taking a step forward.

Bruce smiled but his smile was made of bitterness and self-loathing.

“I could never close the curtains” he muttered under his breath; his gaze still fixed straight ahead. “If I can’t help them, at least, I _will look_. I don’t want to be like those politicians in their golden towers. I _won’t_ look away, Alfred.”

He was pretty sure that Alfred was smiling too, one of those slight smiles that wanted to say everything and nothing, which revealed his age much more than his wrinkles did.

“You never did.”

Bruce nodded. He heard Alfred take another step forward behind him, stopping, his hesitation perspiring through every pore of his skin. Bruce took a breath and the time on the screen seemed to taunt him, the seconds scrolling by as if to remind him that every single moment brought them closer to the fateful hour.

“I am afraid that staring at the screen will not allow you to destroy it with a laser beam. This faculty is reserved for another of your friends.” his butler softly added, only the sound of the television breaking the silence that had heavily settled in the room.

Bruce finally looked away from the station, turned around.

The anxiety was written in capital letters on Alfred's face, as surely as age did. The thought quickly gripped his heart, a familiar feeling, and he clenched his jaw to keep himself from thinking about it.

_No._

It was counterproductive, it was an emotion he had control over, which he kept firmly under lock and key, and he wouldn't let it get away so easily. He swore to himself the first time he put on his suit, an ideal, a legend, _it_ _was never doubting._

"I hate it" he confessed, as if Alfred didn't already know. “I hate the fact that I am so helpless in front of such a barbaric notion.”

“You are most certainly not.”

Bruce gave him a dubious chuckle.

One full of incredulity and self-loathing.

“How do you call it then?”

“Master Bruce-” Alfred sighed, taking another step forward in order to put a hand on his shoulder.

The gesture was strangely comforting, much more than he would have thought. Affectionate, nostalgic. Reminiscent of a time when Bruce had looked for, and _needed,_ a familiar contact. Time had passed, but the memories remained and the nostalgia for the feeling only grew stronger.

“You are not helpless. You have dedicated yourself to the protection of this city every other day of the year, day and night, you have helped to improve the Arkham Psychiatric Institute, the city's infrastructure, the remaining criminality. I'm not saying that this day doesn't count, I'm saying that every other day counts too.”

It certainly felt like it, nevertheless. But he was not going to admit it when Alfred was trying to comfort him and he settled for a slight, barely perceptible smile. A blink of an eye and one would have missed it.

But not the one for whom it was directed.

“I'll be in the second living room” Alfred ended up offering, receiving a slight nod as a reply. “As usual, the door will be sealed at precisely nineteen o'clock.”

Bruce gave him another nod, shifted his attention to the TV screen. Only seven minutes left. Seven minutes that sounded like a threat, like a dire prediction. Bruce gritted his teeth, trying to refrain himself from thinking about what the city would look like the next morning.

Bodies in the streets, broken house doors, people crying. Stores being robbed - and the annual cleaning. At seven o'clock in the morning, as soon as the purge was over, the world would start again. And at exactly 7:36 a.m., the cleaning trucks would drive past the penthouse.

Bruce had been watching them pass by from his window for two years now.

He sighed, one of those long sighs that lifted his rib cage and swept a bitter thought along with them, and walked over to his counter.

It was a cowardly action, to give himself some liquid but sadly necessary courage. He popped the cork of his bottle of whiskey, Scottish Macallan, offered by an investor as a birthday present and poured a swig of it into a crystal glass.The amber liquid now trapped between new walls, Bruce swallowed a sip, the burning of the drink paradoxically soothing the fire in his throat. An imaginary fire, caused by apprehension and disgust, one that would fade only after several days.

But which was always dormant.

Only five minutes and thirty-four seconds left.

Another sip of the whisky was swallowed.

Driven by a sudden impulse, Bruce walked out of the room, leaving his glass behind. He scorned his elevator to take the stairs, quickly descending it. His heart was beating in his chest - he needed _to see_. A visceral, almost animal-like need that gripped his entrails and caused him to quicken his pace.

Bruce walked through the penthouse, descending each floor before arriving, panting and his heart pounding, at the bottom of the tower. There was no one in the entrance hall of his building. The regular staff had been dismissed as a necessary precautionary measure and were safely housed in their apartments - equipped with Wayne Enterprise security doors.

This was a complimentary gift to each employee. The accounting department had winced, but Bruce had _insisted_. It was the least he could do.

Only three minutes and fifty-two seconds left.

Metal curtains had already been lowered all around the windows, only the one at the door was left and the tower would be sealed for the next twelve hours.

And no one would be able to enter until the next morning.

Still driven by this impulse that he could not explain, or at least refused to explain, Bruce took a few steps forward, towards the only peephole that allowed him to look outward.

It was a silly detail. They had never needed it, after all, usually there were several levels of security for those wishing to enter the tower. Guards were in charge of checking the entrance and not a day went by without complete strangers attempted entering. Bruce sometimes wondered if they considered the tower to be one of Gotham's tourist attractions.

He wasn't sure what it meant about his image.

But, the peephole. It had been an innocent joke by Lucius when they had installed this new security system. “In case you need to watch your streets while being protected, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce had retorted that he had no intention of surveilling anything and Lucius had simply smiled, adding that if Bruce was using army gauntlets for his speleology, he could install this seemingly useless detail on his front door.

He had given in.

Bruce took a few more steps forward, a fleeting hesitation crossing through him before he quickly crossed the remaining steps. His hands leaned against the door, on the icy cold of its surface, and he shivered - his raspy breath breaking the silence that hung over the hall.

The sound of his own heartbeat resonated in his ears and he wasn't sure that he knew the intention behind his own motion. He just knew he had to do it. Tenacious order, fixed in his veins as much as his blood. Bruce swallowed, felt his Adam's apple stretch against the soft surface of his turtleneck and slowly bent over.

The silence was as heavy as lead.

His face pressed against the door, his skin protesting at the brutal coldness, and his eye came to the peephole.

Unsurprisingly, the street was deserted.

Only the lampposts brought some life to this frightening, almost apocalyptic image. The reflected shadows seemed to dance a funeral rhythm, moved by the breath of a northern breeze. The Gotham wind was known for its icy, vicious blow, which crept into the clothes and placed its frozen fingers on your skin.

Not a single individual was outside and that was hardly surprising. Those with a little bit of judgment and morals were carefully locked in their homes, their hearts tight in their chest and safe behind their armored doors.

And those who would enjoy the Purge were impatiently waiting in front of their television screens. Bruce could almost see the words scrolling across the screen.

_This is not a test._

_This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government._ _Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted._ _Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed._ _Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours._ _Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7 a.m., when The Purge concludes._ _Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn._

_May God be with you all._

Bruce's frantic heartbeat subsided slightly and a smile that was not really one passed through the barrier of his bitterness to appear on his lips. He had gotten the wrong idea. Everyone who could was safe, waiting for the twelve hours to pass.

No innocent person would risk being outside on that cursed day.

Bruce took a deep breath and swallowed again, receding slightly m-

“Help! Please help !”

His heart stopped in his chest.

For an instant, the world froze. The silhouette of the little girl outside seemed to stop as well, prisoner of time, and Bruce's respiration stopped.

And then, as quickly as he had paused, the world re-started. 

“Help ! Please, please, help ! _Let me in!”_

His heart skipped a beat and Bruce didn't have the time to think it over. No sooner was the sentence over than he hurriedly unlocked the door, his hands trembling and panting, and pushed it wide open - getting hit by the full brunt of the cold Gothamite nights.

The girl's scream got stuck in her chest when she saw him and she froze, tears streaming down her face. Bruce didn't hesitate for a second, leapt out of the door to sprint towards her and she hurried backwards, falling on her bottom.

In twenty seconds, he was next to her, crouched down, gasping for breath. His thoughts flew at full speed -erratic. _Her parents, where, why, alone outside_ , _keeping her safe_ and _where was her family?_

“ _Are you alone_ ?”

The girl acquiesced with a trembling nod, her eyes watering.

“I live in that tower” Bruce added as quickly as he could, more than aware of the minutes that were going by – “I can keep you safe until tomorrow and we'll find your parents, okay? We're going to call them and tell them you're here, all right…?”

“I’m Olivia” she faltered, nodding in spite of her tears.

"I'm gonna pick you up and we're gonna go inside now, okay, Olivia?"

She nodded her head again and Bruce leaned over to her with his arms open so she could hold on to his waist and he pivoted-

The strident ringing of his doorbell made him stop dead in his tracks.

As if in a dream, Bruce saw the armored curtain slowly fall - ready to separate his tower from the rest of the world - and his heart skipped another beat. He grabbed the girl and _sprinted_ towards the tower, wheezing-

_please no no-no-no-no-no he had to keep her safe oh please no-no-no-no-no she couldn't spend the night out not that not that not that not that_

Olivia was crying - and Bruce only became aware of the steps that separated him from the tower, the falling curtain and the frantic thought that he had to keep her safe, she would be safe inside the tower and they could call her parents, tell them that _she would be sheltered._

His legs flew in spite of him, his heart pounding in his ears-

_He had to keep her safe, he had to keep her safe, he had to keep her safe, he had to keep her safe._

_if he couldn't save the rest of Gotham, he would at least protect one child._

_He wasn’t going to make it,_ Bruce realized in horror.

Not when he had programmed the door to close in twelve seconds seven- not when he was so far away-

In a flash, he slipped Olivia from his arms, the door more than forty centimeters from the ground and threw her inwards, towards the tower, towards safety...

She slid under the armored curtain, hit the ground with a cry of pain and the curtain closed with a brutal _Clang!_

Leaving Bruce facing the external side of the curtain.

_Outside._

* * *

**#yeet the kid**

Review if you liked it? It motivates me to no end and helps me to write faster<3 


	2. Chapter 2

**_-our longest night_ **

_._

_._

_I don’t wan’t to set the world on fire – Ink Spots_

_._

_._

The first thought that crossed his mind was to wonder, almost frantically, if Olivia had not broken a bone while hitting the ground. He had thrown her so roughly _and she had cried in pain_ -

The second, more pessimistic and striking him with its unshakeable reality, leaving him almost panting, was that he had just locked himself out. _Outside_ , on the most dreadful night of the year, without his suit, without weapons, without a car, without anything.

For twelve interminable hours.

His respiration was still shallow, breathless and he was standing a few steps (so close and yet so _far_ ) from the heavy iron curtain, the realization slowly inscribing itself in his mind. Cruel, _inexorable_. He had to find a way to get safe, Bruce realized suddenly. To this thought was added a bitter observation so often found among soldiers: he had to find a shelter, a way not to offer himself as a target of choice.

Then he thought that maybe it could start by not standing on the middle of the road.

Bruce took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down - gripping with an iron hand the vicious terror that was beginning to parasitize his mind. Panic would do no good, he thought, trying to control the painful spike that was twisting his heart. At least he had confirmation that Olivia was safe.

That was the most important thing.

Nothing else mattered. Bruce would find a way to handle the situation; he always did.

He straightened up slowly, taking care not to make any noise, his breathing still discordant. The silence of the night was painful now, almost tormenting. Indicated that the slightest sound would prove to be a disastrous omen. Only the flickering light of the lampposts brought him some comfort, some presence, but also exposed him to the onslaught that would follow.

And as Gotham's leading personality, the Purge participants would be only too _delighted_ to find him so helpless.

Bruce was one of those special targets, hard to reach and all the more delectable to find so defenseless.

A hand stuck on his mouth to prevent himself from making any noise, Bruce finally moved. He took a few cautious steps forward, on the alert, each sense dedicated to his own protection. Hearing: on the lookout for the slightest sound. Sight: watching for the faintest movement. Sense of smell: ready to signal the slightest unusual odor. Taste: about to indicate to the brain that strange metallic flavor. Touch: anchoring oneself in reality, moving silently.

His ears were buzzing and his heart was beating loudly in his chest, but he ignored it - moving towards the darkness.

He had to warn Alfred, at least, to let him know that Olivia was on the first floor of the building, that he needed to come and take care of her. Bruce would know how to manage by himself, would know how to survive, he just had to avoid running into anyone. Easier said than done, he bitterly thought, finally blending into the shadows.

There, protected at least by the obscurity - his most faithful ally - Bruce managed to soften the frantic beating of his heart, the ringing of his ears and the sinuous fear that took advantage of every rift to creep into him. His thoughts became more organized, more manageable.

Framed - and again meticulously dissected. He paused for a moment to reflect, to think about what to do next.

He had to get back to the Manor. If Olivia was injured, and it appeared to be so, he would have to contact Alfred to inform him of Olivia's presence in the tower. But he had stupidly rushed outside without grabbing his phone, had no way to warn him.

Luckily, the number of the penthouse was registered on the phone of the first living room of the Manor, from there he could warn Alfred.

At least reassure him about his safety. Redirect the child to him.

And for that, he had to find a car. There was also the fact that by getting to the Manor, Bruce could be safe there, get through the old security system through facial recognition. He would hide among the bats, should people manage to get inside. Even if in seven years, no one had ever succeeded to do so.

Never.

But finding a car here was impossible. The Diamond District was one of the most luxurious in Gotham and no one living here would have dared to leave their precious vehicle within reach of the Purge participants. They knew all too well what it would mean: destruction at best, theft at worst. Bruce had no choice but to attempt to walk to the Fashion District and steal a car.

Temporarily at least. He would make sure to return it, with a consequential compensation, to its rightful owner the very next morning.

But that wouldn't be the most challenging part. From the Fashion District, Bruce would have more than five neighborhoods to cross and more than three bridges - in other words, it was pure madness. Normally, it would take Alfred more than an hour to get to the Manor from the penthouse, so to risk it on the night of the Purge...

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

It wasn't like he had any other option. Searching for an abandoned building would be pure suicide and no one in their right mind would open their door to a refugee of the Purge. People reasoned out of survival instinct and Bruce could hardly blame them. Instinct had taken precedence over social rules, almost as _he_ had predicted, and people would rather close their eyes than open their mouths. Disappointing but not surprising.

It was the cleanest, deepest human instinct, a desire rooted in the veins, in the bones, for survival. Of prioritizing one's self over the safety of others, of breeding one's own desires at the expense of those of the stranger, and Bruce could almost have smiled if it hadn't led to such a degradation of their social freedom.

He took an inhalation, deciding to move. He was perhaps about a thirty-minute walk from the Fashion District and stealing a car there would not be particularly tricky. He would ask Lucius to find its owner the very next day, he thought, moving cautiously along the walls.

The sound of his own heartbeat was breaking the silence, and he was advancing at a snail's pace, ready to freeze at the slightest noise although it was probably useless. Purge participants generally avoided the Diamond district, knowing that the majority of its residents were protected from the slaughter and that they had enough money to construct heavy defenses, no- the most dangerous areas would be the working-class neighborhoods.

There, it was a real _battlefield._

Batman had seen it. Armed men on every street corner, screams, car sirens, blood splashed on the pavement and tears. It sickened him.

Bruce was moving slowly. More than once the flickering shadow of a street lamp made him freeze, his heart pounding and ready to escape from his chest - willing to tear his rib cage in the process.

There was something disconcerting about bathing in this viscous anguish that stuck to his skin as surely as tar. Something _delicious_ if he dared to admit it. This latent, natural fear redirected his blood in his veins as much as his heart did, keeping his entire body on constant alert. Bruce had dreamed of it, once, in what seemed like another life.

He had been looking for that feeling, the feeling that made him feel alive - to leave that body envelope that Bruce Wayne represented and that nailed him to reality as tightly as a prison door. The feeling that allowed him to unfold and be more - to _sense more_. The one that motivated him as much as his desire for justice to walk the streets at night, draped in shadows and threats.

Bruce now realized how this feeling was heightened when he felt so powerless. Deprived of his costume, of his legend, he felt like he was returning to the starting point. When he had faced Ras al Ghul, up there in the mountains, when he first tasted this toxic addiction.

The deserted streets accentuated this impression.

With every turn, every corner he went through, Bruce felt like he was reliving his first night as Batman. And with it came the urge to put the costume back on. Maybe this night could have a beneficial aspect, he mused, progressing slowly. If Rachel's disappearance had taken away his desire to act, he now realized that it wasn't Gotham that needed him.

It was Bruce who _needed_ Gotham.

A new turn and Bruce suddenly found himself facing the Fashion District's huge mall. He instinctively crawled up against one of the walls, draping himself in darkness for protection, more than aware of the activity that must be swarming inside.

Bruce quickly scanned the street. Broken cars, flat tires. They had wasted no time, he thought. When did they had the time to act without Bruce hearing them? He must have lost more minutes than he had thought, or they had acted before the Purge had begun. Without cameras, no one could implicate them. His gaze fell on one of the cars, relatively intact, as only one of the doors was broken.

But the tires had been untouched. He glanced around him, quickly making sure the street was empty before hurrying to the car. No sooner had Bruce his hand on the handle than a gunshot burst – causing him to instantly remove his hand.

A second shot burst, this time closer and Bruce didn't have time to think. In a flash, he dropped to the ground, _crawled_ under the car - his chest tightening and his breath wheezing. Frantically.

His heart was beating fast and he pressed one hand against his mouth to prevent his breathing from betraying him. More gunshots rang out, followed by screaming and swearing, and Bruce forced himself to stand still, not to go to them for help, to _act_ -You can't do anything, you can't do anything, you can't do anything, he ordered himself, a feeling of helplessness now mingling with his nausea.

New shots. New screams - more vehement, more desperate. Bruce was close to leaping out of his hiding place-

_There is nothing you can do. Don't move. **Don't be an idiot.**_

And as suddenly as it had appeared, the shooting stopped, the screaming faded. Bruce swallowed with difficulty, the bitter taste of impotence dripping on his tongue as he thought about what it must have meant. The silence painfully returned to the street, his heart beating so loudly that Bruce was almost certain he would escape from between his organs.

He forced himself to stand still, fingers still stuck in his cheeks to force himself to silence, his rib cage rising in rhythm. One time. Twice. Three times. Bruce clenched his teeth, so hard that they squealed, and slowly loosened his fingers...

“Did you see what he got, this dickhead? I've been waiting for this night all year, I ain't stoppin' because he begged me for two minutes. Nothin’ more exciting to start with than one of those overseas bastards.”

Bruce froze. He kept his fingers carefully in place.

The footsteps came closer.

“Relax, we have all night to do shit like that.”

“Doesn't mean we don't feel fucking alive shootin’ those motherfuckers, I’ll tell ya man, there's nothin’ like it to get in shape - what's the next step boss'?”

Another voice sounds, throatier than the other two. Bruce tried to recognize it - in vain. There were so many participants in the Purge that identifying all of them was impossible.

”Let's try Old Gotham. There's a bastard who owed me money over there, he must be hidin’ behind his door thinkin’ that his pretty little protection is going to keep me from puttin’ a bullet in his goddamn skull. He’s gonna learn the hard way that one doesn’t mess with money around here.”

The other two nodded vocally and Bruce clenched his jaw. Old Gotham was not known for its fancy protections and the other would probably not stand a chance against three armed men. He loathed himself for his inability to move, if he had his armor, if he had his weapons, he could have put them out of action, protected their victim from what was awaiting him -

Their footsteps melted into the night, their voices becoming more muffled as they walked away and Bruce forced himself to wait a few more seconds. They seemed to pass with infinite slowness, fading into the night and painfully reminding him that there were just under twelve hours until dawn.

When Bruce was pretty sure that he was alone on the street, he slowly slid out of the car, leaning on the asphalt to get up-

A volley of bullets flew over his head and Bruce immediately dropped to the ground, his heart skipping a beat and ready to pounce on the man who fired the shots-

_They must not have gone far enough away Bruce had been stupid stupid stupid stupid if he had waited at least a little longer_

He spotted them easily, three masked men in front of him, two with automatic firearms (projectiles in bursts, _he had to protect himself_ ) and the third with an iron bar- The first one let out a delighted exclamation at his sight and Bruce slipped immediately behind the car, avoiding another volley of bullets.

It hit the car behind him, immediately shattering the windshield and spreading glass all over the pavement. Bruce received a volley on his arms and flank, grimaced as it went through his clothes, strewing his skin with cuts. The familiar hot liquid began to flow from his right forearm, dripping onto the asphalt and he tried to wipe it off quickly, frantically rubbing his skin _._

His heart was pounding, but he didn't surrender to his panic, looking feverishly around him to see if something, _anything_ , could be used as a defense.

“Get out of there! You're surrounded anyway!”

“ _Did you see his face?”_ the second asked, in a raucous voice. “I think that’s fuckin’ _Bruce Wayne,_ dude.”

“Bruce Wayne? Don’t be a dumbass, what the heck would he be doin’ out of his tower?”

“I don’t know but I swear I saw him -“

Bruce took a deep breath - painfully aware of the poverty of his options. Think ! he thought, he needed a way to approach them, to incapacitate them from near- as it was a lost cause from afar. If he could get just a little bit closer...

“I'm really Bruce Wayne!” he suddenly shouted from his hiding place, his mind spinning at a thousand miles an hour. “Let’s talk ! I can offer you anything you want; I’m of no use if I’m dead!”

The shooting ceased abruptly, and his heart resumed to its normal activity, frenetic but functional. He swallowed, slowly turning to look over the car.

“And what if we wanna you dead? Yer one of the biggest dipshits of this city, ya think we’re goin’ to let you go just like that? ‘Cause you’re _rich?_ ” another voice shouted and Bruce grimaced, recognizing the throaty voice of their chief.

No-no-no, he just had to get closer - if he could sneak up near them, close enough to steal their weapons... But Bruce had no way to carry out his plan. No smoke, no batarang, no aerodynamic cape. Just him and his mind. Against three automatic rifles. He gritted his teeth, quickly contemplating the idea of fleeing underneath the cars—

“What if he has money on him boss’?” the first one slyly suggested, taking a few steps forward.

A moment passed and Bruce dared to take another look, a spike of relief crossing his mind when he saw that they had lowered their weapons. But the moment was too brief and suddenly they were already standing near the car, taking advantage of the two seconds it took him to get up to join them, weapons on his shoulders and a smug smile displayed on their face.

His eyes spun on them quickly. He could incapacitate them in four steps - right hook for the first man, grab his weapon - break the second man's jaw with the butt of the rifle and point it at their leader—

Bruce made a step—

A gun point came to rest on his chin and made him stop dead in his tracks. Bruce slowly raised his hands in the air, his eyes fixated on the faces of the men facing him. They wore these obnoxious masks, a parody of Gotham's finest figures, sold for 50 cents at a Wattendon Road store. The mouth was distorted into a grotesque, almost clownish smile, and the thought was like a stab - reviving memories he would have liked to burn.

The weapon was cold against his skin. Bruce refused to look away, staring at the hidden eyes of the man facing him, protected behind the rubber screen. A way to clear himself of all responsibility, to ensure protection against any retaliation.

Mankind liked to hide behind its masks, and some were more tangible than others.

"You said you had money" the one in front of him breathed, pressing the tip of the barrel more strongly against Bruce's jaw. He nodded slowly, ready at any moment to grab the barrel with one hand and point it at his attacker.

With a little luck, holding one of them hostage would keep the others at distance.

"I do" Bruce slowly confirmed, gradually moving one hand away from the gun and toward his suit. “I am going to take out my wallet, alright ? I’m not armed.”

The men exchanged glances and the one who seemed to be their leader, on Bruce's left with the iron bar, nodded almost imperceptibly. Bruce reached out, while carefully moving his hand away from above his skull. It passed to the level of his cheek and Bruce leaped.

With one hand, he pushed the barrel away from his face, sending his elbow up to hit the man's jaw, leaping to his feet to grab the gun with his other hand. It all happened in an instant, the man staggering under the impact with a loud "fuck! "and Bruce violently slammed the second man's temple with the gun in a quick circular arc.

The other man dropped his gun, his hands clasped on his skull and Bruce quickly kicked it under the car, pointing his gun at their leader, the barrel at the height of his face. His heart was pounding, and his ears were whistling, but his gun firmly aimed at the man.

A second flew between them.

Something must have passed through Bruce's eyes, determination or resignation because, slowly, the man relaxed his fingers from the metal bar. It fell to the ground, tinkling, breaking the silence that had fallen on them.

Only the sound of their breaths now pierced the bubble of silence that floated around them. Bruce slowly loosened his tightened jaw, his fingers tightening around the trigger. A poisonous atmosphere, heavy with anguish and animosity, fell on the street.

"Go" he said quietly, pushing back the wave of nausea that was gripping his heart. They were just men who deserved a second chance. Mired in the euphoria of a cruel and outdated system. "Go back home and I won't-"

A detonation pierced the night and Bruce saw as in a dream the bullet pierce the man's forehead in front of him, flying straight through and bursting his skull. Blood splashed his face, sweaty and sticky, spreading on his skin and mouth. Metallic taste, similar to a piece of iron, _viscous_.

The body jolted, the mask sliding back, a silent cry of pain dying on the lips and the man collapsed like a disarticulated puppet.

_“Boss!”_

Bruce froze and two more blasts sounded, forever silencing the two remaining men. They collapsed on the asphalt, wax dolls with broken limbs, and the act broke Bruce out of his momentary stupor. He immediately turned around; his hard-won weapon pointed in the direction of the shots.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha. _Ha_. _Boss !”_ a nasal and high-pitched voice falsely whined. “Boss, why won’t you wake up _-uh_ ? Don’t leave us alone, it’s full of _freaks_ around here.”

A shiver ran down Bruce's spine. His fingers tightened around the trigger-

_No-no-no-no-no-no, not him, not now, he was supposed to be imprisoned for months in Arkham, he was supposed to be under high surveillance since Bruce had shipped him to Arkham, since the boats-_

The laughter died as the man jumped out of the darkness, a hand grabbing a semi-automatic (20 gauge, ideal for hunting, Bruce's brain pointed out) and shaking his head like a rabid dog. To get rid of the buzzing in his ears after pulling the trigger? To chase away parasitic emotions? Bruce wasn't sure to know the reason.

The Joker turned his gaze to Bruce, eyes _black black black,_ animalized by the ardent fire that burned in his irises and smiled.

It was not a reassuring smile. It was a smile full of promise that would only delight one of them, and his hand tightened even more on the trigger, the only rampart between the man and himself. He had no Kevlar, no legend to protect him now. If the Joker had refused to kill him when they last saw each other, he had no attachment to Bruce Wayne : billionaire playboy and debauched businessman.

“See, that’s why I _hate_ guns.” The Joker jovially informed him, glaring at the weapon. His nose wrinkled in disgust. “Uhm- no, not hate, that’s a big word, let’s rather say I have a _distaste_ for them. Bam-bam-bam, too quick-uh, a _squeezed_ finger and they’re _dead.”_

A muscle in Bruce’s jaw twitched. He pressed his lips together in such a thin line that they could have disappeared and adjusted the weapon so that the barrel was at the height of the Joker's face. The gesture would have deterred anyone else.

But obviously not the man in front of him.

“Don’t move further. I won’t hesitate to shoot” he bluffed in a firm voice.

The Joker only shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he gave Bruce a lopsided grin.

“And why would you do that, Brat Wayne?”

Bruce's gaze wandered over the fresh makeup, the collar of the coat that needed to be adjusted, the smug air he displayed and didn't answer, simply readjusting his grip. He must have escaped, or worse, been released. The nausea returned to hit Bruce head-on, thinking that the person who had caused his escape would not be subject to any repercussion.

One of the permitted crimes was to release a patient from a mental institution. Those in prison, however, no. Probably because no one had thought about it before, because no one had wanted to break out _sick_ people who needed help.

Or that people knew well that opening the doors of Arkham was sheer madness.

Bruce had spent long hours with the Arkham Board of Directors. Together they had reviewed procedures, authorized medications, staff, patient treatment, awards and visits as well. Everything had been carefully reviewed, conscientiously processed to improve every aspect of it.

And if Bruce had stopped in front of the Joker's door with his hand on the handle and ready to open it - the other would never know. He had made his way, had made his choice.

Caregivers and doctors were also undergoing regular psychological tests now. He didn't want to see a case like Jonathan Crane ever again. But the change had been so recent, so condensed that _they hadn't_ _thought about the Purge._

Bruce was grinding his teeth so hard that he was sure to damage the enamel. They hadn't thought about the Purge, and he was so _sure_ he'd gone over everything in great detail, so arrogant in his misplaced confidence-

“Now lemme tell you how I see this.” The Joker smugly resumed, unaware of Bruce’s frantic thoughts and still displaying one of his surreal grins. “You’re Goody Two Shoes, lil’ Golden, I-never-worked-in-my-life Wayne. Don’t try to say you know how to fight or shoot, I’m not an idiot _-uh_. So, uhm- what are you doin’ down here? With us _plebeians.”_ The Joker scrunched up his face, adding quickly : “And _don’t lie_.”

Bruce glanced out onto the street, all too aware of the implications of an open debate. Every second brought with it its share of the unknown and apprehension, and they were not immune to being surprised by a new group of participants.

A choice had to be made, and quickly.

The Joker raised an inquisitive eyebrow, accompanying the gesture with a vague hand movement intended to make him speak, a perfect representation of the phrase "I'm waiting."

“I was trying to save a kid” Bruce finally revealed, opting for the truth. Pressed for time, he didn't have enough seconds at his disposal to invent a sufficiently satisfying lie. "I found myself locked outside."

The Joker's expression closed up and Bruce grounded his jaw, heart beating in his chest, a ball of energy ready to explode, ready to ravage his body and mind and about to fire at the slightest movement _\- aim for the legs and put him out of action_

And then the Joker laughed.

It started with a slight chuckle, sharp and as if inadvertently let out, uncontrollable. A real burst of hilarity that seemed to seize him completely, insinuating itself into his body like a parasite. And then his chest and ribcage twitched, inflated with hilarity and oxygen, and the chuckles turned into a frank, now openly ecstatic laugh.

A laugh that gave him goosebumps, sent shivers down his back.

Bruce tensed up, his eyes glued to the street and jumping from one place to another, all his muscles tightened - they were going to be heard, it was not discreet enough, _not silent enough_ -

“I, _I like you_ !” the Joker admitted between two hiccups of laughter. He swallowed his last laugh, which died on his lips and shook his head, pointing a gloved finger at Bruce. "You remind me of someone else, so brave, so _selfless_. Alright, you win.”

”I… win ?”

“Uhm, yeah. Bingo, ding-dong, ring out- _uh_ the bells of victory. On behalf of my costumed friend, I ‘ll _help_ you, Brat Wayne.”

Words burst forth without Bruce understanding them, dancing around his mind without them being integrated. Help him ? Sudden bursts of voice from the mall made them freeze sharply, fingers tensed around their weapons and turning their heads towards the origin of the noise in a brutal, almost mechanical movement.

“ _Let’s go this way, I heard shooting!”_

“ _I can’t wait to join the party!_

_“Don’t be so excited Charlie, this may be your second purge but I’m an **expert** -“_

Their eyes met, and the nausea that seemed to have been stuck with Bruce all evening returned, mixed with revulsion and wrath. The Joker grimaced theatrically, his teeth, yellowed from the lack of hygiene, exposed to the artificial light of the street lamps, and mouthed: "Tic-toc, Tic-toc, Brucie."

Bruce swallowed, lowered his eyes to the weapon he was holding in his hand. Anger was beginning to take over his repugnance, twisting his stomach into a painful, metallic spike. Anger, because he was forced to hold such a weapon in his hands when he had always sworn never to touch one, never to use one, anger because of this society that indulged in violence and cruelty, anger because of a government that sat atop its golden tower to watch the plebs crawl through mud and blood. Anger against the Purge and its sanguinary system.

He raised his eyes and met the Joker's gaze, met the vicious glow shining within them.

And Bruce slowly nodded.

“I accept.”

* * *

**#i want a petition to rename him BratWayne savior of Gotham City**

_A review if you liked it?_ The ch1 ones motivated me enormously and the ch2 was posted much faster than I had expected haha <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I hesitated a lot before posting this chapter before English is not my first language and I didn't get a beta for this chap so... I hope there's not too much mistakes. But it'll be corrected in a few days, so i'll update with the beta corrected version soon... ? <3  
> Also, thank you so much for this warm support, i'm really delighted! <3 <3

**_our longest night_ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

_Save your tears - The Weeknd_

.

.

.

The Joker's face lit up at his words.

Something dimly, a vicious spark of malice - the one that must have been worn by the children who were playing at tearing off butterflies' wings. The one that crossed the eyes, camouflaged much later by a shame learned along with social rules, when an abhorred one hurt themselves. The one that lasted only a second, fleeting but much more real than the carefully crafted societal masks.

Bruce looked away, unable to support the other's gaze. The poisoned, delighted glow only reminded him of memories he had smothered, strangled to the point of suffocation.

“Let’s move then, I assume you don’t know how to start this car?” the Joker wryly asked, wedging his weapon under his elbow and advancing towards him.

Bruce winced, masquerading his instinctive backward movement as terror. He slowly relaxed his finger from the trigger, making the same movement as the Joker to lower his weapon before shaking his head in refusal. Batman had learned to play with electrical wiring in a town near Pforzheim, Germany - after infiltrating one of the German drug rings. Bruce Wayne, on the other hand, had seven different cars under the Manor's garage.

Nothing that justified an ability of this sort.

The Joker sighed, a bit too theatrical to be truly annoyed and passed by Bruce, entering the car through the broken door and dropping his gun on the seat next to him. He took a penknife out of his pocket, taking advantage of the maneuver to twist it between his fingers - in a playful, almost childish motion.

Bruce's tight jaw relaxed slightly and he stepped forward, aware of the seconds ticking away, bringing them closer to the group of participants who had made themselves heard. He swallowed, the tenacious impression of being just a spectator of a play that was being performed without him becoming even stronger. Think, he ordered himself, glancing at the scene.

He needed the Joker's assistance. Alone, it would be madness.

They would go to the Manor and Bruce would stick a tracker on his skin or incapacitate him before calling the police. _Gordon_. He wasn't sure if he could trust the rest of them. History had proved to him that there were more bad apples than good ones in the tree that was the police station.

Bruce closed his fist, clenched tightly until the keratin from his fingernail sunk into his palm and closed his eyes for half a second. He quickly reopened them, passing his arm through the weapon's strap to rotate it over his shoulder before quickly approaching the slaughtered men ( _dead, dead, dead when he could have saved them if he had been faster, more efficient_ -) and searching in their pockets.

He had to find something to arm himself with. A rifle was effective for the moment but they would soon run out of ammunition and he hated the idea of carrying such a weapon. Clenching his teeth, he fumbled at the man's pockets, nodding his head as he grazed a piece of metal. He pulled out a long, sharp, visibly worn hunting knife - the tip hardened with dried, brown, _smelly_ blood.

His teeth screeched between them and he quickly got rid of the gun, emptying the loader and stuffing it into his pocket, before grabbing the knife by the handle. He pulled a cloth handkerchief from his suit in an attempt to wipe away the dried blood, uncovering the metallic sheen underneath. Once the search was completed, he went to the other two men, skillfully avoiding looking at their shattered skulls, his loot consisting of the iron bar and another - smaller - blade.

Bruce rolled up his sleeves, stuffing the smaller blade into his trouser pocket and sliding the hunting knife under his suit jacket. His hands clasped on the iron bar and he got up just in time to hear the hum of the car getting louder - the cries of the Purge participants getting closer.

In two steps, he was close to the car - almost surprising the Joker, the man raising a circumspect eyebrow. 

“On the road again- _uh_ , Brat Wayne.” The Joker said in his insufferable sing-song voice, grinning a little bit. He had one hand on the steering wheel, still gloved in that purple leather that no other in town dared to wear and carried a satisfied look on his face, almost arrogant.

Bruce nodded slowly, slipping next to him, his iron bar still in his hand. The Joker retrieved the weapon from Bruce's seat, threw it behind them and after a moment's hesitation, Bruce did the same with the bar. He had his new knives, he recalled, feeling strangely helpless without his armor.

A moment of silence floated between them.

The atmosphere was at least as sticky as in the street but the Joker seemed to revel in it, slowly licking his lower lip before turning to Bruce. Here, enclosed within the confines of the car, the oppressive aura surrounding the man seemed to multiply.

Bruce had about a hundred questions that were burning on his lips. _Why, how, what was in it for him? Why had he himself agreed?_

The Joker seemed to pity his puzzled expression, or at least seemed to get bored of it - Bruce doubted that pity was part of the range of emotions felt by the other. He smiled - exposing his yellowed teeth once again and ran a hand through his hair, shrugging.

“Before you explode under the, uhm- buzzing of your brain, I'm gonna soothe you a _little_. I don't wanna get _stuck here_. Wayne Manor is outside the city limits, hm? Let's make a deal, Brat Wayne, you offer me the pro-tec-tion of it just until this light, little _annoying_ night- _uh_ passes and I help you survive it. I don't guarantee _in one piece_ , even my talents have their _limits_ but, uh- deal done?”

He cocked his head questioningly and Bruce gauged him silently.

The reply was obvious, of course. The Joker was under no obligation of protecting him and Bruce was fairly certain that he could survive even without the golden protection of Wayne Manor. But… Whatever his true intentions were, there was strength in numbers on the night of the Purge. And he wasn't entirely sure that the other would not try to cut his throat on the spot if he refused.

So Bruce acquiesced. A nod at first, replaced by a vocal affirmation when it became clear that this was what the Joker was waiting for.

His identity was more important than his feelings. And, in all honesty, Bruce preferred to have a look at the whereabouts of the man. Accompanying him meant a potential limitation of his victim quota and Bruce could never let him go with impunity, all too aware of the consequences involved in the act.

Whereas if he kept an eye on him... He could send him back to Arkham the next morning. And Bruce would make sure to discover the identity of his accomplice, the one who had seen fit to release him on a Purge night. If no judicial sanction was possible, a transfer to another department would be advisable.

Or at least warn the medical and security personnel that he was to be kept under very close surveillance.

“Alright, big boy where are we heading?”

“Wayne Manor is near the cemetery, after Pioneer’s Bridge.” Bruce quietly offered, his hands tightening around the broken handle of the car and the Joker simply nodded.

Bruce was almost certain that he had asked simply because he wanted to break the silence. It seemed that if Bruce was enjoying the peacefulness of the night - the Joker _hated_ it vehemently. The voices outside became closer, louder, and they exchanged a new look before the Joker started the car, lowering the window as much as he could.

As if to validate Bruce's hypothesis, no sooner had the Joker left the street, rushing to the right into a deserted alleyway, that he shook his head and opened his mouth again.

"So what's your thoughts on the Purge?” the Joker abruptly said, his eyes still fixed on the road. He swerved with the steering wheel, avoiding an overturned garbage can on the road and clicked his tongue. His eyes drifted to the left, towards Bruce. “You look like the kind of guy who would, uh, _love it_.”

“I could say the same.” Bruce slowly countered, his body still on edge. Words were bursting out of his mouth before he could hold them back. "All this chaos, this anarchy, I thought that's what motivated you.”

The Joker barked a laugh, emphasizing his resemblance with a feral dog. Bruce tensed up abruptly as he took his eyes off the road, gauging Bruce with a fresh, _scrutinizing_ gaze.

He hadn't been careful enough, he thought abruptly. Bruce Wayne would never have dared to respond to the clown in this way. Or maybe he could put this bravado on the euphoria of their environment.

“Looks like someone did his homework.” The Joker retorted, his mouth curving up into a smile. “But _no_. I like my chaos to be a little less… or-ga-ni-zed. But you, on the contrary, _oh_. Good old Bruce Wayne, mighty in his _golden tower_ , don’t you want to give in to your pulsions, your hidden desires of _violence_? It’s legal, ya know. You can _rip the face off_ some tramp and it be perfectly _normal_. Approved even. Don’t you want to give in to this _latent brutality,_ this ah-violence that inhabits you, the one that would allow you to _free yourself_? Aren’t you a tiny bit tempted- _uh Bateman_?”

Bruce froze. His mouth dried up and his heart missed a beat. A second floated between them, almost deadly, and he slowly uttered:

“Batman?”

The Joker laughed once again, high-pitched and almost painful. “Bat _e_ man” he corrected, emphasizing the e and shaking his head in amusement. “That’s what you chose to focus on, uh? I would have thought a guy like you knew his classics, Brucie. Patrick Bateman, American Psycho, ring any bell?”

Bruce shrugged it off in negation. He licked his lips in a quick motion to soothe the dryness of his mouth before sinking back into the seat. He left his gaze lingering on the street, without replying, scanning overturned garbage cans and broken store windows. He tensed up as he spotted an abandoned shoe - his mind racing around the thousand and one possibilities it might imply.

The Joker sighed, a sweet sigh that didn't belong on a face like that and chewed on his bottom lip. His eyes were back on the road and Bruce was grateful for it, without really knowing if it was out of safety concerns or because there was a disturbing glow in them – too familiar for his own taste.

“Not a big talker, mmh?”

Bruce didn't answer and the Joker gritted his teeth before brutally pulling on the car's brakes.

Bruce _rocked forward._ He barely caught up to the rear-view mirror and almost fell headfirst onto the windshield, his belt painfully biting him in the ribs. His mouth dropped a mute exclamation and his breath stopped.

The Joker let out a breathless chuckle and Bruce immediately turned to him-

Was he _stupid_ -

Stopping here, so abruptly, in the middle of the Fashion District while the participant groups were swarming in the neighborhood, was not madness it was _imbecility in its primal state_ -

“Uhm-, Brat Wayne, Brucie goodie, heart of my heart, lemme clarify something” the Joker ferally hissed, directing his black gaze straight towards Bruce. “When I talk, _you talk back_. Right? I’m not interested in monologuing or I would have talked _to a plant-uh_.”

Bruce bailed his fists, his teeth clenched to the point of hurting him as he slowly nodded. _Don’t_ he firmly ordered himself, _you need him right now_. _Accept it_.

His anger must have filtered through his eyes, destroying the dam he had built, something as animal and destructive as what was visible in the Joker's eyes because the other's face brightened up. In the literal sense of the word. It was in the expression wrinkles, it was in the smile that lost its connotation of an ill-fated omen, it was in the nose wrinkled with _delight_.

Bruce almost felt as if he was witnessing a secret expression, as if he was trespassing his rights by seeing it so freely disclosed.

“That’s what I want” the Joker whispered, quickly, almost like he couldn’t keep the words from falling out of his mouth. “This anger, _oh Brucie_ , why didn’t you tell me you had such a black pit inside of you?”

“I don’t _need_ to say anything to you.”

The Joker restarted the car and Bruce pinched his lips; his mind boiling. It was what he feared, it had been a stupid idea - he would have to jump out of the car, he would figure it out, he would find a way like he always did. But Bruce had sworn-

The Joker's voice slammed like a whiplash.

“ ** _Don’t._** I know what you’re thinking.”

“You do?” Bruce muttered, staring at the door handle.

“Oh I do” the Joker pointed out, his head slightly tilting to the side. “You’re thinkin’ about, uhm- _jumpin’_ out of this car. Don’t be dumb- _uh_ , that’s not attractive. How far do you think you’re gonna go before they catch you, mmh? Twenty meters, ten? Before they shot you, _gut you_ on the street ?”

Bruce gritted his teeth.

“I won’t do it. I gave you my word.”

“Uh, yeah, and I forgot how _faithful_ businessmen are with their words.”

Bruce turned to him, looking away from the handle and actually staring at him for the first time since he had gotten in the car.

"I gave you my word" he repeated, pouring into his voice all the firmness of the words and the confidence that existed behind them.

The Joker nodded his head slowly, his right hand still on the steering wheel. They branched off once more and every word that could have come out of the man's mouth choked just as sharply.

At the end of the street, a group of participants was breaking a window, laughing.

The engine of the car warned the group of their presence and all eyes turned to them. Faces masked by those grotesque masks, so popular tonight, and the Joker let out a chuckle that was not at all amused, accelerating sharply.

The leap of the car made the group move immediately and in a single gesture they bent down, picking up something imperceptible. The car flew towards them, Bruce jumped up to grab the broken door handle and push it towards him-

**_BONG BONG BONG!_ **

A stone shattered the rear windshield, landing on the bench seat while the others bounced against the vehicle chassis. The laughter of the participants broke out in the night, loud and vicious, and the car passed by them in a flash. The Joker _accelerated_ , new stones smashing against the doors and the trunk and they distanced them-

A few seconds went by silently and Bruce finally let go of the door, his heart beating in his chest as he glanced into the rear-view mirror.

Participants were standing in the middle of the street, stones in hand, watching them drive away. One of them slowly slipped his mask to reveal his face, unrecognizable from so far away, and they faded into almost indistinguishable dots in the night.

Bruce finally turned around, taking a breath before spitting:

"I despise the Purge. You asked me what I thought about it ? This is an abomination. It's an excuse for the government to channel the violence that may be directed against it, an excuse to watch the most destitute devour each other and laugh about it, a way to put pressure on the disenfranchised populations. Of course, the members of the government are exempt from this night, they are _protected.”_

The Joker lifted an eyebrow, snorting as he tapped his fingers against his lips.

“Weeeeell, I didn’t ask for a confession but that was a huge outpouring- _uh_ of emotion.” He snorted once again; grinned against his fingers. “I can _recommend_ a therapist or two.”

Bruce let out a harsh breath, immediately regretting his outburst. He preferred to redirect his gaze towards the window, towards the deserted streets of the city. The Joker laughed once again - and it seemed to Bruce that either his presence was making the clown laugh even harder, or the autarky in which he had been plunged in Arkham was pushing him to seek contact much more than before.

The Joker had been far too dangerous a patient for social privileges.

Unaware of his thoughts, the principal concerned began to hum something under his breath. Bruce tried to not pay attention to it even if he looked suspiciously like one of Queen’s songs.

Bruce gritted his teeth, his gaze still firmly fixed on the city.

They crossed the alleys, sometimes meeting participants without them ever exceeding the sum of three. It seems that the groups headed for Gotham's poorer, more working-class neighborhoods - wasting no time in quenching their bloody thirst for destruction.

They moved forward silently, only the hum of the engine and the irregular mumbling of the Joker contributing to fight against the heaviness of the night. Bruce stopped trying to listen to it after a few minutes, words being chewed between themselves, indistinguishable to the ear. But the litany was almost soothing, anchoring him in reality.

There was something strange about crossing such lifeless, barren streets. The slightest inhabitant was carefully locked up at home, at least those who were resistant to the Purge, or not brave enough to dare to take part in it. Leading the night to rob the streets of even the slightest bit of activity.

And yet Gotham thrilled hearts with its relentless energy. Strangers likened the city to an anthill, constantly bursting with movement, activity, _people_. Gotham was like the electrical shock of New Jersey, the kind of exhilaration that grips your throat when you go out late at night and watch the nightlife awaken.

In Gotham, it was cars crossing bridges at night, it was people on the pavement, those who came home late, those who hung out to bathe in the electric atmosphere, those who started their work when the sun went down, those who lived in the shadows and moved forward under the artificial lights.

Gotham, it was _real_.

It was this city, hard and sharp, pulsating with life. It was the one that swallowed you alive if you had to take a wrong step, spitting you out on the pavement, bloody and pride destroyed but painfully alive. Plunged into addiction and that was what made its inhabitants come back, again and again, drawn by the flame of its breast like butterflies went towards the light.

Gotham, it was sharp edges and vicious grins.

The reality of man, his deepest instincts if the Purge had not upset this natural order of things. As one walked through the streets of Gotham, one felt this exhilarating sense of danger and uniqueness. A feeling that knew how to touch lonely souls without delicacy.

Something that ran through the veins and fed the heart as well as blood was pumped into it. It exercised its seductive power in hearts and came to intrude, so effective in its parasitism that no one questioned it.

Bruce turned towards the Joker, his eyes scanning the impassive face, fixed on the road and the question flew out of his lips, unstoppable.

“Why are you attempting to destroy Gotham?”

The matter seemed unthinkable to him. There was so much beauty hidden in those alleyways, hard but true, never false, never _hypocritical_ that the question had come out before he could even stop himself.

The existence of a man like the Joker made him doubt things. Bruce didn't _understand_. Alfred's reply had not been enough for him, that sometimes the nature of the man meant that there was nothing to understand. Bruce needed to understand. He needed an answer - an explanation.

The Joker answered, nonetheless.

He lifted a dubious eyebrow, stopped humming _Another one bites the dust_ , the corning of his mouth quirking up a little bit as he glanced at Bruce. His eyes ran over Bruce’s made-to-measure suit, his hair perfectly coiffed, the watch that he hadn't thought to take off.

“Aaah but a good comedian never explains his jokes. Maybe you’ll get it one day, mmh.” Another glance at Bruce. “ _Sooner_ than you would think.”

“You can indulge a companion of misfortune” Bruce said, in this tone that was not quite joking but not very far from it. “After all, we are not entirely sure we will make it through the night.”

The Joker chortled, his nose wrinkling – and under the artificial light of the car, Bruce noticed a single freckle on it. The thing humanized the man and Bruce surprised himself by casting another piercing glance at him, determined to unravel the other mysteries camouflaged by the greasepaint.

“You’ll need to be _engaged_ at Arkham to get an, uh- answer. Or to wear Kevlar and _plastic ears_ at the top of your head. Tell me, Brat Wayne, which one’s easier mmh?”

“You didn’t revealed it to Batman either” Bruce blurted out.

The Joker raised an eyebrow again.

“Didn’t said I did. But if _he_ asks…”

“You would reveal the real reason to him?”

“Perhaps” the Joker said. He had his hands fixed on the steering wheel and Bruce swore he saw them tensing up more. The leather squeaked slightly under the gesture and the fold of his red lips became more pinched. Sensitive subject, it was noted. "What's in it for you mmh ?"

Bruce shrugged.

The movement, almost imperceptible under the darkness, nevertheless diverted the Joker's eyes from the road. His mouth lost its annoying crease and he cast a new, almost uncomfortable by its intensity, scrutinizing gaze towards Bruce.

Bruce felt like he was walking on eggshells. There was something fundamentally strange, abnormal, about confronting two worlds that were not meant to mix.

And the Joker didn't belong to Bruce Wayne's. He belonged to Batman's, the one where he didn't have to wear a mask of politeness and pleasant fake smiles. The one where he wasn't supposed to have to weigh his words, the one where he could give himself up to the truth without retribution, the one where he could be raw, _sincere_.

Bruce was not used to this hesitant groping, these words that pressed on his lips without coming out, eager to be poured out and all the more bitter to be swallowed. He closed his eyes for a second, deciding for the first time in the night to intertwine these two worlds.

He could blame the difference in his behavior on the euphoria of the night, the adrenaline and the change of atmosphere. It wasn't as if the Joker would go around shouting from the rooftops that Bruce Wayne wasn't scared enough, wasn't polite enough.

“Only my curiosity” he truthfully answered.

The red lips stretched into a mocking smile.

“You know what they _said_ , cu-ri-o-si-ty killed the cat-“

“But satisfaction brought it back.” Bruce countered with a slight smile. “I know the adage.”

The Joker rolled his eyes, humming through his breath. He didn't add anything, probably not because he had nothing to say, but because the sound of his own being was enough for him for the moment.

Bruce wasn't sure he liked being left alone with his thoughts. They circled around Olivia, Alfred, the men they had left dead on the road and he hoped they would be found quickly, that they would be given a proper burial. And then there was the Joker, strangely calm for the moment, but Bruce was not fooled by this quiet appearance.

The calm before the storm.

The Joker turned left and turned towards Bruce, giving him a quick glance. “Which bridge ?“

Good question. Four bridges linked the lower part of the Fashion District to the more upscale, luxurious part that surrounded Robinson Park. In general, all four bridges had fairly similar traffic, but that night... Bruce didn't hesitate.

“The last one - the one that has just been rebuilt, near the Diamond district.” he suggested, rubbing his neck in a smooth gesture. “Participants rarely venture into this area.”

“Oh, I know which one.” The Joker hummed and clicked his tongue. “Gotham’s an… _old friend_ , y’know.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Riighht. Well, now you do. Though, not- _uh_ the best friend one could dream of. Buut… You make do with what you have, mmh.”

Tell Bruce about it. He nodded absent-mindedly and the Joker's fast movement didn't catch his attention. It was only when the scent reached his nostrils that he glanced at him, noticing the cigarette stuck between his red lips.

He wrinkled his nostrils and refrained from commenting, even as the Joker lowered his window to blow a long volute of smoke, the cigarette skillfully wedged between his lips. Probably the source of the visible deterioration of his oral hygiene.

He grinned when he saw Bruce's disgusted expression, fleeting but still long enough for him not to notice it. He had a chuckle, grabbed the reddened cigarette by the lipstick and held it out to Bruce.

“Y’want one ?“

Bruce shook his head, hand raised in front of him to gesture his refusal of the offer. He accompanied his refusal with a faint sorry smile drawn directly from his reserve of smiles for any occasion before abruptly dropping it, his earlier promise coming to mind.

Giving up each of his masks proved more difficult than expected.

"I don't smoke."

The Joker raised an inquisitive eyebrow, retrieving the cigarette in a fluid motion.

“You don’t ? Mmh. Would have thought you did, with all those… uh- _upper galas_ and _stuff.”_ He mouthed, articulating more than was necessary. He smirked and leaned back in his seat, releasing a new volute of smoke. “Savin’ a kid, not likin’ the Purge, not smokin’, my-my, I’m starting to wonder if I’ve got the _right_ Brat Wayne.”

It was Bruce's turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Smoking is by no means a necessity. I like keeping my lungs in good health.”

“But dear old’ liver doesn’t get- _uh_ the same privilege?” the Joker snickered, finishing his cigarette before sending it flying on the pavement.

Bruce settled for a pinched smile and didn't respond. The Joker seemed satisfied to accept it as a reply and he grinned, obviously delighted to have had the last word on what turned out to have been a verbal jousting match.

Perhaps because everything was a confrontation with him, where he had to have the advantage. Bruce wouldn't have really cared if his winning criteria were not so impervious and changeable. In any other man, these were predictable, surpassable. But with the Joker, he felt like he was entering a gaming arena where the rules were unknown to him.

And where they changed with every gust of wind.

The car left the lanes and drove onto the junction that led to the bridge and Bruce surprised himself by being hopeful. The streets had been strangely deserted for an evening of Purge, _perhaps people were getting bored._

Maybe there were more people safe in their apartments than on the streets with guns, maybe this year would finally show that they were worth more than that.

Another turn and they were on the main road, rushing down the beginning of the bridge. Bruce tensed up in his seat, ignoring the sneer that followed his gesture, but the bridge in front of them was just as deserted. It was strange, he thought suddenly, it was too good to be true.

Bridges had always been a target of choice for participants-

The car jolted.

Bruce and the Joker had time to exchange a look, understanding, resigned- and the car _went flying._

Everything happened very quickly. In the space of a second, maybe two.

He barely had time to grab the door, to cling to it, that his world turned upside down. His body was propelled into the air, driven by the car's bearings. Bruce's head suddenly hit the ceiling; the seatbelt girdled him - suddenly taking his breath away. His mouth let out a silent, _breathless_ shout.

_Nails, fucking nails on the road_ Bruce had time to think - the only notion that stuck in his mind - as the airbag exploded in his face. The sudden pressure wrenched another silent exclamation from him as they fell back, the car crashing into the road.

_Get out of there get out of there get out of there get out of there_

His breathing was wheezy. His back and chest were screaming in pain and he was almost certain that he had broken something - _he had to move, he had to get out of there_ \- the brutality of the act had left him panting and he needed a second to regain awareness of his surroundings, of his landmarks.

_It had been an ambush_ \- the realization hit him as hard as the accident and Bruce quickly removed his seatbelt, crawling slowly through the broken window. Glass tore his sleeves, cut off his forearms, but he continued, finally getting out of the vehicle.

By a stroke of luck, the car hadn't flown over the bridge but had instead crashed into his sides. His ribs were radiating pain and as he straightened up, frantically touching them (maybe he hadn't broken anything in the end) and bringing back bloody fingers.

The _knife_.

He had slipped it into his jacket and while flying, the blade must have sliced through his skin. Exclamations of joy made him leap, _so close to them_ , and he saw seven figures emerge from the darkness. _Joker,_ Bruce frantically thought, turning his attention back to the car. He had to get him out of there, he had to pull him out of the car-

Bruce stopped dead in his tracks.

It was _destroyed._

The rear was recessed into the bridge, the metal reduced to lint that revealed nothing of the vehicle's original appearance, and the hood was smoking a thick, grey smoke - ominous. But this was nothing compared to the windows.

Although they were reputed to be resistant, they had been broken into a thousand pieces. The ground was strewn with pieces of glass and one of them shattered under Bruce's shoe as he walked forward. The silhouettes in the distance came closer, their cries of joy becoming louder and he moved instinctively.

In a flash Bruce was crouched near the window, his fingers on the Joker's collar. The Joker seemed to be unconscious, blood dripping from his nose and forming a bloody furrow that joined his lips. Bruce immediately pressed two fingers against his neck, a wave of relief hitting him almost achingly when he felt the familiar pulsation.

Bruce took care to pull him out of the car gently, his heart pounding and painfully aware of the approaching silhouettes. There wouldn't be time to get him to safety, he realized.

He checked in the blink of an eye that the Joker could breathe on his own, supporting his neck before taking a quick glance at the hood of the car. Given the color of the smoke and the lack of fire, the chances of the car exploding were considerably low. Time was sorely lacking.

The exclamations became distinct now and Bruce placed the Joker near the bridge, camouflaged by the shadows ( _they wouldn't see him immediately, he had some time -)_ and hurried back to the car. He swallowed, extended one hand to retrieve the iron bar and his knife - having fallen out of his pocket during the accident, slipped them into his hands.

His heart was racing and Bruce didn't fight it. He sank into the sensation, closing his eyes, letting it overwhelm him completely. The hair on his arms stood up and his lips stretched into a slight smile.

And he vanished into the shadows.

“Did you see how the car flew? It's exactly how I imagined it would be!”

“Ok I admit I wasn't too keen on the idea at first but woah, those nails were a crazy thing, man.”

A more feminine voice pierced the night.

"We don't have time for that. Find them, they couldn't have gone far. Almost nobody has been there since the beginning - their fucking car is going to betray us.”

"Chill, we have all the time in the world. Tyler said he's going to take them down by the second one, they're all going to try to get out this way. We're goin' to make a lot of cash, I'm telling ya.”

“Who died and made you god? Move the fuckin’ car yourself if ya want it. I ain’t touchin’ that, it’s a fire hazard if I ever saw one.”

“ _Don’t be freaking dense_ ! Do you think they're going to rush out onto the bridge if they see a _smoking car_? They'll turn around!”

The group moved forward; their faces masked by these parodic plastic figures. The first one took a few more steps, crouching at the level of the car to run his hands over the vehicle chassis.

"Hey! C'mon here, there's a gun inside! Looks like it’s jackpot, guys" he exclaimed, reaching a hand through the window to retrieve the gun. He slid the mask over his hair, a delighted expression running across his face as he stroked the gun.

A second one leapt up beside him and ripped it out of his hands.

“Hey ! I saw it first!”

“Well that’s mine now. What, you’re gonna _protest_?”

All their eyes were fixed on the silly argument between the two participants and they did not notice the last one of the gang wandering away. Nor did they see the hand coming out of the shadow to muzzle him and the fist crashing against his temple. The body collapsed, going limp in the arms of its assailant and the mask was quickly snatched from him, put on just as quickly.

"Hey! Hey, guys! There's someone here!" a girl shouted and they immediately stopped, turning in her direction.

The shadows moved. The two participants got up, walked towards her, leaving another of them behind. Unaware of the consequences of their impromptu decision.

The aggression was just as rapid.

A blow to the temple, a body dragged and lying on the ground, pockets searched and _robbed_. Silent footsteps followed the group, their owner draped in darkness. Slipping sinuously between the beams of light, his footsteps as light as a cat's.

"Look at this freak! He's unconscious, it looks like the accident must have thrown him here, and-"

A mocking laughter pierced the night.

_“Is that make-up ?_ ”

"It looks like someone didn't get the memo; the night is reserved for masks not for that - it looks like he escaped from a circus.”

"Let me see!”

One participant stepped aside to let him pass, stepped back-

His body collapsed into foreign arms. Joining those of the other two.

One of the participants was leaning towards the inert body of the Joker, fingers on his collar. The other three were standing around him, forming an amused circle, laughing. They were armed with metal baseball bats, visibly worn, and one of them put it on his shoulders, rolling his back muscles and making a show of it.

“He looks familiar don’tcha think- but I don’t remember from where-“

“ _On a circus poster?_ ”

The others snickered.

Silent footsteps approached, gliding over surfaces darkened by night. A hand pierced the shadows, rising sharply to grasp the collar of the nearest participant. A scream escaped from his lips and he was caught in the night. The others jumped up, turning around immediately.

“ ** _Connor!”_**

The scream burst forth, swallowed just as quickly. A foreign leg appeared, knocking the legs of the two participants and they _crashed_ on the asphalt. The one crouching near the Joker tried to get up-

A gloved hand wrapped around his neck, suffocating, _painful-_

“Not- _uh_ on a circus poster, _boy_. _Maybe in the news_?”

His victim uttered a muffled scream, gurgled against the iron fist. He cast a desperate, frantic glance at the other two- _three? since when were there three?_

_No-no-no-no, it was a stranger, the one in the suit and mask was an intruder-_ his thoughts stopped dead in their tracks, slit like his throat.

The boy gurgled, spitting blood, his irises filled with a deaf, dreadful terror as a smiling, made-up face leaned over him-

Bruce stood completely out of the shadows, on top of the other two before they had a chance to make a move - his hand grabbed hold of the hair, _smashing_ the skull against the asphalt. The girl screamed, stepped back hastily, her hands raised as if she could escape-

A brutal fist came to stop her screams. She collapsed like a rag doll on the floor.

Silence floated for a few seconds on the stage.

And then Bruce stood up slowly, throwing his mask to the ground. His respiration was wheezing, interspersed and he took a deep breath, gazing at the stage.

Young adults, he thought in disgust. Adults barely out of adolescence, barely out of childhood. And they were playing rules that were beyond them, at what was a game to them - brutal, bloody, but a game.

They wouldn't be unconscious for long. By the time he and the Joker were far enough away _\- Joker_.

Immediately, Bruce's gaze went back up, came to find the other's eyes. A body was slumped at his feet, throat cut- _dead, dead, dead, another victim that Bruce could not have prevented, if only he had been faster-_

But the Joker was chuckling.

A whistling chuckle, testifying to his failing health. He had blood smeared across his face from his lips to his chin and his make-up had faded halfway, revealing more skin. But he didn't seem to care, half slumped against the railing of the bridge and wheezing.

He coughed, a raspy cough that seemed to tear his lungs apart and the Joker plunged his black eyes into Bruce's.

Something gleamed within them. Something that managed to be both delighted and threatening at the same time.

And then he spoke.

“Oh _Brucie_ ” he purred, grinning venomously. “I didn’t know you were such a _ninja_.”

* * *

**Tadam :) Oh-oh, Bruce looks like you'll have to have a reaal talk with J.**

**Review if you like it? There’s no better motivation ❤️**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for your nice words <3 <3 I've been thrilled and I hope this chap will please you as well.  
> A special dedication for MSAdaline00, as I said it's not a humoristic fic but your propositions made me laugh a lot haha <3 So I hope you'll like it!

**our longest night**

_*_

_*_

_The waves made of fingers and the madness that lingers_

_–_ **the Amazing Devil, “** King **”**

_*_

*

“Oh Brucie” he purred, grinning venomously. “I didn't know you were such a ninja”

Bruce froze. His words got lodged in his throat, swallowed, _suffocated_. His lips dried up and he tried to utter a word, an excuse - anything. This wasn't normal- Bruce was used to being _trapped_ , to being confronted with questions that were only meant to make him lose his temper, to make him confess the fateful "I don't know." He had attended so many meetings, so many interviews where the calm conversation was leading up to that very moment.

The one where the pleasant smile turned into a predatory one, the one where words ran over the tongue, poured like incandescent oil on rabid enemies. The one where Bruce would just smile harder, a smile so pinched that his lips burned and slowly ran his fingers across the table, his instincts taking over.

And always, always, the reply came. 

Relentless.

And yet-

And yet, the Joker looked at him with an expression so close to the cat that had swallowed the canary, so satisfied, so _vicious_ in this artificial curiosity and yet so sincere in his astonishment that any word Bruce might have said was stuck in his throat.

The Joker snapped his tongue. Like a bubble of chewing gum exploding, a foreign noise that broke the silence. 

And just like that, Bruce's words found their way into his mouth, poured out in an uncontrollable logorrhoea. 

“I have been kidnapped a lot. I- I need to know how to defend myself. It's not just the Purge, I'm a popular face in Gotham, and people have often thought they could get a substantial ransom-“ he frantically blurted out. “I'm not that good, but I've learned _a few things-“_

A loud chuckle put an abrupt end to his stammering.

“Not that good ?” the Joker was saying. He raised a dubious eyebrow, had a hoarse cough that shook his chest, leaving him gasping. He wheezed, resumed with another chuckle. “Plenty of good for me, _Hattori Hanzō_.” 

The reference made him frown.

“I didn't know you were educated on ninja history.” 

“And what _exactly_ do you know about me, mmh?”

The Joker had the eyes of a wild animal, those who were thinking at all the ways they could tear your limbs and devour you, blood dripping from their fangs, and Bruce was confronted with it head-on. He shrugged to escape the Joker's piercing gaze, hesitated for a second before shaking his head with a fake smile that was meant to be sorry.

So much for his resolution not to don his Bruce Wayne mask.

A moment of silence passed, stolen by the night. Those who allowed the breaths to lose their frenetic rhythm, the spirits to calm down. Necessary, at least enough for Bruce to manage to reorganize his thoughts, for the Joker to rise to his feet, smiling only to avoid making wincing faces. 

Bruce's eyes came to rest on the young man's corpse. His heart skipped a beat.

Releasing a sigh that he hadn't been conscious of holding, Bruce crouched down beside the body, sliding two fingers over the eyelids to close them. He hesitated for a second - completing his gesture with a quick body search. 

“Uh- _what are you_ _doing_? Y’don't have enough pocket- _uh_ change that you need to _steal_ from the dead? Even for a guy like me, it's _hard_ , Brat Wayne.”

“Shut up” Bruce muttered, continuing his search until he pulled out a wallet. His jaw tightened as he pulled out the ID card, ignoring the Joker's delighted chuckle, glanced at it to check the identity of the late young man.

“Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but a true, _ah_ - _gentlemen_ would share-“

Aaron Bettlinger, twenty-two years old. 

Bruce slipped the ID card into his suit pocket, his teeth clenched so tightly that they screeched together. He would give him a decent funeral, he promised himself as he stood up - taking a last look at the body. As soon as the Purge was over, as soon as seven o'clock in the morning rang, he would take over the funeral expenses. It was the least we could do. And if he suspected that the young man would not be the last to suffer the madness of that night, he would at least be among the last.

It was his fault after all - if he had been quicker if he had managed to incapacitate him before the Joker appeared _if the Purge did not exist_ – 

“ **_No._ **“

The sentence was slammed, receiving as a reply a raised eyebrow from Bruce. The Joker gave him a theatrical sigh, passing a quick tongue over his blood-stained lower lip before making a vague hand gesture.

“There's only, ah- one person who mastered- _uh_ the fine art of brooding and I'm not in the mood for your antics. See, Wayne-“

And once again his tongue came to moisten his lips, pressing them together, as if he was pensive. But Bruce was far too aware of the other's mind and it was just a facade. The Joker didn't weigh his words, he _offered them_. Like a bittersweet gift, a precious cloth wrapped in poison, the last offering of Deianire to Hercules. 

An offering that seemed harmless, but which was gorged with the most infectious venom that ever existed.

“I've been very _patient_ with you. Not killing- _uh_ , not maiming- _uh_ you. Buut... As much as I'm entranced by the idea of the _utter disorder_ there's around us, we need to move. And we won't if you keep acting- _uh_ like you're not Brat Wayne.”

Bruce frowned, got up.

“What do you mean?”

The Joker made another vague hand gesture - as if that was enough of a reply. When Bruce's confused expression didn't evaporate, he rolled his eyes, visibly exhausted at the thought of having to explain himself. 

“I know you think acting _all nice and_ _heroic_ will make me compare _the both of_ _you_. Drop the act- _uh_ _, we already_ have a uhm, a _deal.”_

And the light came to his mind.

“You- You think this is _an act?”_ Bruce brutally spat, anger bubbling in his chest _._ What - that he was trying to pass himself off as a Good Samaritan to preserve his image? _People had just died!_

His jaw tightened and a bitter taste stained his tongue. 

Was that what everyone thought? That he would jump at the chance to pass himself off as a valiant knight, taking advantage of death, of the destruction of others for his benefit? 

Bruce's outburst of anger was reflected in the Joker's eyes. He shook his head and stretched his scarified lips into a feral grind, revealing his teeth under the beam of light. His shoulders tightened, and Bruce could swear he could see the Joker leaning slightly forward, his head bent, his eyes fixed straight on him.

Like an animal on the defensive - a wolf ready to jump at his throat.

The Joker raised an eyebrow, spreading his hands wide apart as if to ask him "Because it's not? "and Bruce's anger grew stronger. 

"It is a bit late- _uh_ for moral concerns Mr. Billionnaire. You see, Bruce, there's a wind of rudeness in this city that should be... ah- nipped in the bud- _uh._ "

Bruce gritted his teeth. 

His heart was human - painfully human, and the anxiety of the night coupled with the dripping disgust he felt for the Purge fed his anger like ragweed. It swelled in his chest until it crushed his organs, leaving no room for anything else and clouding his senses.

It was all about control, Ras had taught him, up there in the cold and the ice, between the incense and the shadows. Don't give in to your anger, face it and _accept it_. 

_“_ It never is! Just because you are a **monster** doesn’t mean the rest of us needs to _be the same!”_

Words burst forth, burning and _furious_ , dripping into a torrent of rage, and the Joker simply laughed.

A scream, rather. 

Which inflated his chest as much as Bruce's anger did. He shook his head abruptly. The gesture had a frenetic dimension, so passionate that Bruce's words got stuck in his chest-

“You are _hilarious_! Monster, you say? And Bruce, dear Bruce in your golden and fantastic world, where women have only eyes for you and where money is another game in your playroom, who is the **_real monster_**? Who decreed all these pretty laws, who authorized this night once a year mmh? Who lies at your feet, much more _enthralled_ by the idea of cutting your throat than _kissing it?_ ”

The Joker laughed once again but this time it wasn’t a laugh at all.

“They all want us to confine ourselves to their orders, to their pretty little rules which have the sole purpose of curbing man's vicious nature. In nature, man is an animal and only social organization allows him to wear the mask of his choice.” The Joker spat, a vicious glow shining in his eyes. “That is why what they consider _immoral_ , what they consider _cruel,_ what they consider _abnormal_ is so tempting to us, to humans - because we are ah- doomed to it because it is our very inst-inct and it _is to push it away that is abnormal_. This is why as soon as a man has the, uh, validation, the _authorization_ to free himself from this mask that hinders him every day, he releases _his passion_ in the act that is judged to be ah-that of evil, he revels in suffering- _uh_. Society is only a vast e-la-bo-ra-tion to keep us on a leash, to prevent us from surrendering to _our most primary instincts._ ”

And as quickly as his anger had risen in his heart, it evaporated, giving way to bitter resignation.

The Joker was right.

It was a terrifying observation, as bitter as wormwood could be. But as soon as the words came to mind Bruce realized how true they were. The Joker was right - at least for those who were at fault. Those who deserved to do penance, those who deserved justice to be done, were the ones who had voted for the idea of the Purge.

And Bruce had given up. He had bent his knee before them, he had accepted that something so cruel, so inhumane should be allowed. It had been an outburst of weakness, of resignation, and Bruce now realized it.

As poisonous as the Joker's words were, they burned with the truth.

He had given up when he should have raised his fist. And it was Gotham, it was America that suffered from this weakness. He should have fought for their rights, for their lives. And _he didn't_.

“Uhm; what’s gotten- _uh_ into you? Did I _break_ you ?" the Joker's voice suddenly called out, bringing him back to reality-

Bruce raised his eyes to the man. 

He was still tense, his fingers twitching at their tips, but the furious glow in his eyes seemed to have disappeared, his shoulders were a little less tense. Bruce let a second pass before shaking his head, a bitter expression on his face.

"I am not faking it." He finally offered, his fingers touching the pocket of his jacket - where the ID card was secure. “And you are right. I closed my eyes too long when I thought I had them open. Tonight will be the last night to suffer this atrocity.”

The Joker snickered.

“What a change of _heart_.”

“Don’t push your luck” Bruce muttered and the Joker raised an incredulous (and perhaps a little bit delighted too) eyebrow at his words. But Bruce didn't have the heart to adopt the frightened attitude he should be displaying. "You are right, we need to move.”

“Twice ‘ _right_ ’ in the same night- _uh_? Careful, Brat Wayne, you don't want to add me to your list of _admirers_.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The Joker lifted an unimpressed eyebrow at that.

“Don’t be _rude_.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lips, his expression displaying something that looked thoughtful.

After his moment of reflection, the words pulled a tooth-filled grin on his bruised lips and even Bruce's lips twitched in a way that could be compared to amusement.

The thought of ending the Purge filled him with new determination. He hadn't looked hard enough-if he could find enough leverage to pressure the government members who had voted for the Purge, if he visited them as Batman, he could bring them down.

He could put an end to this madness.

**

The group of participants incapacitated, walking across the bridge was not as difficult as Bruce would have imagined. They had moved slowly, slipping through the darkness and taking care not to make any noise. 

Bruce had awkwardly asked the Joker if the accident hadn't hurt him - the Joker had squeaked that he was perfectly able to walk, thank you very much and that if Bruce was so eager to fulfill his role as a foster mother, there was a slew of orphanages in Gotham. The venomous verve had been supposed to be an answer but when Bruce glanced inquisitively at the man, his left arm was strangely outstretched and his forehead sometimes wrinkled in what seemed to be pain.

The fact that he cared had surprised him more than he thought. It was the human instinct, he had found as an excuse, to empathize with other people's pain - even if the other person had committed the worst atrocities. 

Another indication of the man's failing health was his total silence. Since they had returned to their path he had not uttered a single word, only his wheezing breath, and his footsteps on the asphalt breaking the silence. Bruce had turned around several times to make sure he was there, encountering only an inquisitive raised eyebrow.

Eventually, he had forced himself to move forward, focusing on the breathing behind him to make sure the man was still following. And so they had gone.

It didn't take long for them to reach the other side, the upscale side of the Fashion District. There, they could get a new car, could get to the mansion –

They left the main road, still endowed with this strange silence, to come and rush into the alleys - less crowded, safer. They moved forward until voices suddenly made them spin, hiding in a recess in the wall. 

Bruce's back was pressed against the rough surface of the wall as they waited silently, their eyes refusing to meet and their breaths slowing down to cut themselves off completely. Two seconds passed. A handful more. The voices doubled in volume and then slowly faded away, disappearing as time went on, and when they finally stepped forward, no more than a minute and a half must have passed.

"Awfully crowded this place-" the Joker sneered, chewing at the scars and Bruce let out a sigh he didn't realize he had held back. “Christ, some good manners could be _taught.“_

“Unfortunately the class will be a bit dissipated tonight,” Bruce remarked with a huff, causing the Joker’s eyes to widen before leading him to jovially rasp _._

“Most obviously.” 

Their eyes met for a second, but Bruce quickly turned away, looking down the deserted alleyway. Two cars were parked there (doors intact) and another glance convinced him to quickly rejoin them, crouching down to take a look at the tires.

An expletive slipped between his lips. 

“ _Ta-ta-ta._ You kiss your mother with that mouth- mmh?”

“They punctured the tires,” Bruce explained as he got up quickly, eyeing the Joker that had collapsed against the car bodywork. He frowned. Sweat beaded from his forehead and under the makeup, his skin had lightened to almost reflect the whiteness of the greasepaint. “Are you sure-“

The Joker shook his head, licked his lips like he was considering his question. His eyes darted to the left like he was talking to some voices that Bruce couldn’t hear. But Bruce knew better than to fall for this coy act. 

“Am I _sure_? Sure of what, Wayne? Sure that if you continue to ask me about it, I'm gonna fucking stab my penknife into your goddamn skull huh? Yeah, _pretty sure.”_

Bruce sighed and did not respond, slipping one hand into his jacket pocket to grab his hunting knife, quickly joining the other car. A noise burst suddenly in the night, broken glass and he froze-

"Isn't protection an overrated idea mmh?" the Joker asked, a grin displaying his yellowed teeth as he passed one hand through the glass he had just smashed. "For what it's worth."

Bruce clenched his teeth, a nerve twitching in his jaw, and turned his head steadfastly, offering his back as his sole reply (ignoring the amused chuckle that followed), glancing at the tires to check their condition. A new curse escaped him as he noticed that they were as destroyed as the others -

They were going to have to move forward-

They would eventually find a car that would be in good enough condition for them to use. Bruce didn't realize how much destruction was taking place on a Purge night. He had focused on the major crimes, on the murders - had not had time for the property damage and his ignorance was now being cruelly reminded to him.

That was why this night would be his last.

He sighed again, stood upon the ground, the hunting knife coming back into his jacket, and Bruce rolled up his sleeves, turning towards the Joker.

The Joker seemed to have stolen a keychain from the inside of the car, a small wooden house dangling at the end of a ring, a dreadful thing. He turned it between his fingers, staring at it, and when his hand closed around it - time floated for a second.

The Joker raised his eyes and their gazes met for a moment, so volatile, so fleeting, and Bruce was certain that he was going to destroy the keychain.

But as soon as it was locked in his hand, the object disappeared - no doubt quickly concealed inside his jacket. Bruce gritted his teeth but added nothing, taking a few steps forwards to join him.

The Joker's chin stood up, almost indistinguishably, as if to challenge him to say anything. But Bruce had no intention of doing so and simply shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

"When we get to the parking lot of the Killinger Mall, we should be able to find a usable vehicle. I doubt they went inside to destroy the cars; the night is still young.”

“Young but oooh very _willing”_ The Joker slyly pointed out, adjusting the collar of his coat - a grimace escaping him as he raised his left arm. 

Bruce couldn't help but let his gaze wander over the bruised arm, wondering for the umpteenth time the extent of the damage. Perhaps he could find a pharmacy, Bruce didn't have his wallet but would find something to compensate them with...

It was purely practical, he convinced himself. If the Joker was injured anymore, he would slow them down, put them in greater danger. It had nothing to do with the spike that clenched his stomach when he saw someone get hurt. It was all about practicality.

"Let's move" he instructed, determined to focus his thoughts on other priorities. His watch was showing just under nine p.m. and they had more than ten hours left before the end of the Purge.

Two hours and what if Olivia was still passed out at the foot of the tower _, dead_ \- 

His teeth squeaked against each other. No. It was a counterproductive, toxic path of thought and he had to focus on what to do next. They were going to find a car. They were going to go to the mansion. Bruce would call Alfred and Alfred would take care of Olivia. He would handcuff the Joker. And, when the seven o'clock bell would ring, he would call the police station and Gordon to have the clown sent back to Arkham.

And that was it. And that's what was gonna happen.

Without fail.

**

That's why Bruce shouldn't have been surprised when, a handful of minutes later, the Joker let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a delighted exclamation. He barely had time to turn around, already prepared to tell him to shut up, reaching out his hand to stop him, when the man smashed a store window.

The glass shattered - the noise resonating throughout the street and he froze. The pieces of glass clattered against the cobblestones, falling in a dangerous rain, signaling their presence to everyone in the neighborhood. 

Indifferent to the din he had just caused, the Joker leaped inside, landing with both feet on the glass - adding even more noise to the already surrounding din.

A second spinning.

And the Joker's voice could be heard from the store.

" _Wayne_! Get over here!”

Bruce gritted his teeth, glanced frantically behind him to make sure no one was rushing towards them, and reluctantly turned back. He stopped in front of the store, glanced inside - quickly spotting stalls full of food.

It was strange. For a store located in the Upper Fashion District, that there were no heavy protections such as an iron curtain or an alarm seemed surprising. He frowned, took a step forward - his hand reaching for his hunting knife.

It seemed too good to be true. He stepped forward again, the glass squeaking under his shoe and he looked down, lifting his foot to put it down a little further. Bruce focused on his breathing, taking care not to make more noise than necessary. He walked slowly, until he reached the crates, only his breath shattering the silence that had been imposed.

Not a sign of the Joker and Bruce hesitated to breach the silence to call out for him. It was decidedly too strange - all the merchants knew the risks of a Purge night. Not having a protected storefront would expose the store to what the Joker had just done. Destruction, theft. And if the glass had broken so easily, the quality must not have been there. For a store located in such a place, this would raise questions to which he could only dread the answer.

He swallowed, the oppressive silence of the place revolving around him like a bad omen. Since the beginning of the night, Bruce had felt as if he was walking through a fog that was becoming more and more viscous, _vicious._ One that wrapped its arms of smoke around him to draw him in, covering him like a shell that would forever refuse to open.

He took another step forward.

The Joker suddenly emerged from behind a stall, his arms full of all kinds of things. Bruce frowned; he wasn't even sure if everything he had was _edible_ -

"Here you are. Maybe I should _sew a bell_ in your throat, that it _tinkles_ merrily when I'm lookin' for you mmh?" the Joker sing-sang with a false cheer.

A muscle twitched in Bruce's jaw and the words spun out without him being able to hold them back. 

"Or maybe I should handcuff you so you don't get distracted" he harshly retorted.

The Joker stared at him silently. He moistened his lips, narrowing his eyes. His arms tightened around his new acquisitions for a split second before he suddenly dropped them at Bruce's feet. 

And _leaped_ towards him.

Bruce owed his swerve only to his nocturnal activities, swiftly pivoting to grab the Joker's gloved hand, twisting his wrist to drop the dagger that had almost supernaturally found its way into his palm. It all happened in a fraction of a second. The Joker jumped up, the wrist was grasped, twisted, the dagger fell to the ground with a raw sound-

Bruce released a harsh breath.

The Joker's face was directly in front of his, their proximity diffusing his scent much more than had been done since the beginning of the night. A singular - distinctive smell. Of cheap tobacco, a heavy, strong odor which misted the senses and came to parasitize one's olfaction. The one that caught in the throat and left a bitter sensation on the tongue. Gasoline too, the one so strong that it caused nausea, headaches, which obscured the rest to come to impose itself as a master, authoritarian and cruel. And... _something he couldn't identify._

And then the Joker's lips stretched into a grotesque grin.

"He-he-he. Kidnapped a lot, eh? Suure."

Bruce gritted his teeth, his sense of smell still fogged by these unpleasant odors, and released another sigh, slowly detaching his fingers from the Joker's wrist. The other one quickly recovered his wrist, strangely more amused than angry, and this fact might have reassured Bruce if the Joker's glance wasn't so piercing.

Shit, Bruce frantically thought. He hadn't thought of that; his excuse hadn't worked-

"Will you tell the truth, now? And- don't be so ah- hasty" the Joker rasped almost petulantly. "Lies are a gorgeous replacement- _uh_ but I want the real story."

Bruce's fists were tightly clenched. “ _I don’t want_ to talk about it.”

“Ah-ah-ah” the Joker began affably, licking thoughtfully his bottom lip before tilting a finger in front of Bruce’s face. “But _I_ want to. And if you don’t talk, I would be disappointed- _uh_. So, there’s this little… ah- po-ssi-bi-li-ty that I would wanna cheer myself up. And do you wanna know what’s cheering me up, hmm?”

Another of his cruel flashes flashed in his eyes and Bruce's jaw tightened, as did his fists. His fingernails came to dig into his flesh and he clenched his teeth so tightly that it felt like they were about to break. It was a look he hated. That of the absolute certainty of being the one who had the power, of being the one who demanded. He hadn't felt so stripped of his strength, so weak since then - his breath stopped in his chest, leaving him almost panting.

_Since that night at the opera._

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t want. To. Talk. About. It.”

His voice had fallen into a low baritone and Bruce knew that if he lowered it further, it would sound too much like that of Gotham's vigilante. But blood was pounding in his ears, his rib cage was compressed as if a block of iron weighed on him, and his tongue was dry, so _dry_ -

The Joker’s eyes narrowed as well. His tongue licked his bottom lip and only one word was hissed throughout his teeth. Stated in a tone that would not suffer any opposition.

“ **_Talk.”_ **

_Don't be stupid_ , Bruce ordered himself, slightly widening his eyes as Ras Al Ghul's words came back to him _. Calm and serenity are the values of dignity. Nothing is valued in excitement and debauchery_. He had to calm down- Al Ghul was right, he and the Joker had to work together, not turn against each other-

Bruce slowly loosened his teeth, the pain easing as he did so, forcing himself to adopt a more rhythmic, less frenetic breathing style. _Calm and serenity are the values of dignity._

He slowly pulled his nails out of his palms, closing his eyes for a second before crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive posture. _Nothing is valued in excitement and debauchery_. At the sight of his obvious relaxation, the Joker imitated him very slightly - yet still keeping his head tilted to the side and his fingers playing with his jacket pocket.

“It's really nothing fascinating. When my parents died, I wanted revenge on their murderer. I didn't want to end up like them. I learned some defensive methods. And their murdered died” Bruce revealed through gritted teeth, twisting a little bit the truth. 

After all, a lie was only credible when it had some truth in it.

The Joker’s eyes widened before he barked an appreciative laugh.

“Ah-ah-ah, _Brat Wayne !”_ he cooed, shaking his head like a rabid dog. “And here I’ve thought you were all sugar and spice and everythin’ _nice.”_

“You’ve had your answer. Now **_move._ **”

“Harsh but witty. _I like you_.”

" **Move** _."_

And the Joker stepped aside, probably because Bruce's revelation had just delighted him. Of course, Bruce wouldn't tell him that his training and defenses were done after Joe Chill's death, nor that he was not the man behind the murder at all. 

Bruce brushed past him as he glanced at the rays. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all. It would do them good to refuel, to regain their strength while the rest of the night awaited them. And maybe they could find some medicine.

A first-aid kit.

Bruce paid no attention to the Joker's movements behind him, stooping down to retrieve a bottle of water, slipping his hand into his suit jacket-

No wallet. _Obviously._

Bruce glanced around; his hand still clenched on the bottle. He could write down the name of the place and come back the next day, he would pay for the window, offer compensation for the products he and the Joker were going to borrow - his eyes ducked down to his wrist. 

Or he could pay directly.

With a quick motion, Bruce removed his cufflinks, two small objects made of pure silver that Alfred had placed on his table that morning. He had put them on mechanically, sliding them through the slit of his shirt, shaking his wrists to get them into place. They wouldn't be missed. Bruce rolled them in his palm, revealing the emblem engraved in the metal.

A crown. A little eccentric, a little flashy but Alfred had insisted.

So Bruce had put them on.

He closed his palm around the object, unplugging the bottle cap before taking a sip, softening the dryness in his throat. He swallowed quickly, realizing only just how thirsty he had been.

Bruce emptied the bottle in a few sips. He bent over to get another one, slipping a few chocolate bars into his pocket, his fingers quickly wrapped around the cap- 

“Ta-ta-ta- _gentlemen._ Don't be so fast-tempered- _uh_ , I've always found the words more a-gre-ea-ble than the _barrel_.”

Bruce had never jumped so fast. 

In a second, the bottle slipped from his fingers, bursting to the ground. His feet moved despite himself and his left hand came to tighten on the hunting knife, running silently along the shelves to join the Joker.

Bruce came out from between the shelves- 

“ _Fuck off clown_! This store is under our protection, what do you think you are doing here?!” 

-and found himself with a cannon aimed at his temple.

His words got stuck in his throat.

Three men were facing the Joker, weapons in hand and coated expressions on their uncovered faces. They had cornered the clown against one of the walls and one of them was pointing a gun straight at his forehead - at his brain. 

A fourth had his gun held straight to Bruce's temple- 

His eyes came to scan the room, frantic, his hand still clutching the handle of his knife, and his glance crossed that of the Joker.

And for the first time that night, the clown's gaze reflected nothing.

Not the slightest spark of malice, no cruelty, no excitement, nothing, nothing, nothing. Just his eyes fixed straight on Bruce, which might have been prompting if they hadn't been so empty. 

The tip of the gun went deeper into his temple, painful.

And then the Joker grinned. 

“You’re quite the winners, uh?” he said, the tone of his voice clearly stating that it wasn’t a question. He smiled a lazy smirk, cocked his head to the side with false admiration.

“ _Shut the fuck up-“_

And, as fast as a rattlesnake, the Joker's hand _streaked_ through the air. Slicing through the throat like it was _butter_. 

The hand on Bruce's temple tensed-

Bruce swiveled; _but not fast enough, not quick enough;_ And- The detonation fired in the night.

Driving the bullet into its target.

* * *

**One eternity later- <3**

**I've been very caught up by life sorry for the wait. I hope that this chapter pleased you! I'm flabbergasted by all your comments, bookmarks and subscription thank you so so much!! <3 It means the world to me.**

**Review if you like it 🙏🙏It helps me a looot to write faster haha**

**Lots of love! 🥰**

**Ps: I may or may not publish a Geraskier OS that I'm writing (I rewatch the Witcher and literally fell in love once again with the show. Do you watch it??)**

**pps : I forgot but I wanted to ask is there people who are reading it on their laptop ? Or do you read it on your phone?(it’s relevant I swear)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so so much for your kind words and the bookmarks, comments, and subscriptions! 💖💖  
> Enjoy this chapter!  
> The question for laptop or phone was to know how to adjust my formatting but as the vast majority said they were reading on a phone, I didn't make major changes. Just tried to join some paragraphs for the laptop's reader! thank you so much to those who answered! 💕

**our longest night**

*****

*****

_"It was easy to believe when everything was good. But when bad things happened, doubt sowed its seed in fertile soil and burrowed deep. It was my duty to root it out."_

**_Keep Sweet._ **

**_*_ **

**_*_ **

The detonation fired in the night, bursting in his ears like a pinned grenade and vibrating around him, dazzling his senses.

The world floated for a second.

As if in slow motion, Bruce saw the bullet slam into the wall behind the Joker, saw the blood splatter on its paint, saw the gun vibrate in its owner's hand, saw the slaughtered body collapse on the floor, saw the Joker's hand return to him -

And just as quickly, the world rebooted.

Bruce pivoted - jerked the gun away from his temple. One at a time; elbow thrown to the nose, impact, fracture, _collapse_ -

The man crumbled to the ground and Bruce leaped to his gun, threw it away; heart racing and gasping; the gun crashing into the shelves, falling to the floor amongst the sweets. Bruce turned immediately, drawing his hunting knife between his hands.

A sharp blow to the temple of the downed man and-

 _The Joker_ -

He was slumped against the wall, wheezing - his hand covering his blood-soaked ear. Or at least what was left of it; scattered shreds of flesh, so bathed in red that you couldn't see its original color. His eyes were wide - almost incredulous as if he didn't believe what had just happened; as if it had been unthinkable that anyone could have hit him -

But he was not the only man remaining.

There were two men left - their faces naked, terrified, and above everything _angry_. Bathed in this atmosphere that was only found when a man is on the precipice of his furious madness, incapable of reason and driven by his instincts. They were trembling - their hands clasped on their weapons, their half-open lips letting a wheezing breath pass through.

Bruce stared straight into their eyes.

" _Don't_ " he threatened them, his hand clutching his hunting knife. His eyes drifted for a split second towards the Joker (who was now laughing, a short, _breathless_ laugh _)_ and Bruce's jaw tightened. "We don't need to go to such lengths. **_Leave._ ” **

The first man let out a strangled exclamation - halfway between disbelief and fear. His fingers were trembling around the trigger, and that alone showed that he was not accustomed to holding such a weapon in his hands. It was something Bruce could play on - if he could only get them to _leave._

 _"_ We're the one with the guns, douchebag! And you just killed this fucker!" the second shouted, far more feral and vicious in his anguish. "For fuck's sake! We just wanted you to _leave!"_

Bruce's heart tightened.

But the man's hand was still shaking on the gun and in half a second Bruce _lunged forward-_

His foot waltzed the weapon to the ground and he grabbed the man by the throat, his hand clenched around the trachea and his whole body trembled, victim of the adrenaline rush that tried to drown him. The other man leaped up; his gun directly pointed at Bruce-

The man nailed beneath his grip let out an inaudible sound and he was young too, twenty years old maybe twenty-two and Bruce wondered why, _why the_ Purge was so _appealing_. In a flash the throat was released, the hand caught in his hair and the knife was drawn to be held against the trachea.

Bruce wouldn't kill him of course _not_ , but if the other one thought he was going to-

“ ** _Let him go !_ ” **the other man shouted - no, _screamed._

But Bruce didn't let go of the other one, tightening his grip as the young man struggled to escape him. The free man's cannon was still pointed straight at Bruce and he had to find a way to get them to leave, to get a look at the Joker's ear.

"We don't want any more problems" he slowly promised as if a body wasn't getting cold at the Joker's feet. " ** _Leave._ " **

And his voice almost broke on the word - blending in with the rumble he was so fond of when he was wearing his second suit. This caused the man in front of him to freeze, eyes wide open - and maybe because Bruce had no choice, maybe because he was so used to this tone of voice, because it was the _easy_ way out -

" **_Leave,"_ ** he growled a third time, infusing in his voice all the fury, anguish, and disgust he felt for the Purge _._ The Joker was still laughing, a sound that would be have been inaudible if the silence did not hover over them in such an ostentatious way... "You saw what _he_ can do _when coerced._ I assure you we can do **_far worse._** ”

"Let my friend go first!” the other man hissed, his hand still clutching the weapon. "Let him go and we'll be on our way."

The man's lower lip was trembling and Bruce tightened his grip on the younger man's hair. A mistrustful glint passed through the second man's eyes and Bruce knew immediately that if he let go of the man now, a bullet would immediately be fired.

And-

"Ho, _ha ha ha ha ha_ " the Joker cooed, his black eyes locked on their opponent. Blood was dripping on his face and when he grinned, his yellowed teeth were also stained. "I, ah- I was goin' to say a corny _joke-uh_ but those are so ear-itating!"

" _What-_ "

TCHAC!

Bruce froze.

The man had turned his face towards the Joker, just for a second, a sparkle, nothing that would have justified a movement, and yet, the clown had struck at lightning speed. A snake leaping to bite its prey, a crocodile closing its fangs around the gazelle's neck, a tiger sticking its claws into the tender flesh.

The blade had whistled in the air, flying directly into the man's left eye.

A second floated between them-

And the body wobbled, fell to his knees with a frightful soft noise. The young man he was holding let out a strangled sound, halfway between a sob and a terrified scream, and Bruce immediately let go of him, his heart pounding in his ears.

The Joker wheezed with laughter.

"Ha-ha-ha! If the pen is more dangerous than the sword, the blade is also more dangerous than _inaction_! "

" **_No-no-no-no-no-no_ ** " the young man shouted, staggering forward as Bruce let him go, eyes glued to the collapsed body at their feet. " _No-no-no-no_ "

He was dead- a brutal wave of nausea hit Bruce, almost overwhelming him. His ears were ringing and the ground was shaking- why was the ground shaking; except that- the ground was not shaking, Bruce suddenly realized, unable to take his eyes off the young man kneeling on the ground, it was Bruce's body that was _shivering_.

 _No-_ the night was still so young, he couldn't afford to crack now- _but-_ his heart skipped a beat and the silence was suddenly broken by the Joker's laughter, by the muffled protests of the young man kneeling in front of his deceased friend; and the memory hit Bruce hard, leaving him almost gasping for breath.

The memory of another night, other bodies that had fallen so quickly, so easily, and the memory of a boy who had stood motionless between them: unable to do anything.

But Bruce wasn't that boy anymore-

“ **_Shut up,”_ **he growled at the Joker and the laugh froze-

Bruce took a step forward. Then another. And another. Until he crouched down beside the terrified young man, who instinctively moved backward, his eyes reddened by his tears and wide open.

"Leave" he firmly ordered one more time. " ** _Now_ **."

The young man crossed his gaze and swallowed, nodding faintly. He stood up on his feet, wobbled, releasing a harsh breath, his eyes turning to the Joker and staring straight into the clown’s gaze. And Bruce could swear that within a second something was spinning, enough to make the Joker's eyes wander slightly apart with surprise, then delight, and the young man disappeared into the night.

Bruce released a sigh he didn't notice he had held and forced his breath to go back to normal, half closing his eyes before sliding against the wall. His skin brushed against the coldness of the wall and Bruce hit the ground, staying silent.

Silence floated for a few seconds.

"It was us or them.” The Joker finally said, his breathing erratic. "You know it as much as I do, Brat Wayne. This man, he was going to let the kiddo die for his _revenge_. He was going to shoot you."

Bruce didn't answer.

"Don't- ah- don't frown. I have this, ah, this _friend-uh_ who has the same moral _code-uh_. Ethics, life value, utilitarianism, yadda yadda, cute little principles of life. Rubbish if you ask me- but very, ah, _comforting_. Don't be as _obtuse.”_

"Friend?"

"What's the definition of a f _riend,_ mmh? Common passions, _philosophical_ discussions, a bit of no homo, I think he and I meet the criteria-"

Bruce wanted so hard to feel nothing, nothing at all, that the chuckle that escaped him surprised him.

"He can laugh!" the Joker beamed, still wheezing. "This is the Purge, Brucie" he resumed more seriously. "That's, Uhm, actually the whole point-uh of this night is the _casualties_ . My ear. And I ain't no nice little scout boy but _fuck_ that's gonna leave a scar-"

"One more, one less."

The Joker gritted his teeth.

" _Rude,_ frat boy."

Bruce sighed. His head was still resting on the wall and he closed his eyes for half a second, wondering since when he trusted the other enough to close his eyes in his company. The last two hours had seemed so long, more like the stretch of days than a hundred minutes.

And the night was still young. Bruce feared the rest of it. The only comfort he took from all this was the idea that Olivia was safe, that if she had stayed outside, her fate would surely have been _disastrous._ And his desire to contact Alfred only increased.

After another sigh, he reopened his eyes.

The Joker was still collapsed near the wall, his ear reduced to lint. The vision was particularly cranky but he didn't seem to care, having taken his hand away from it to almost pensively scratch the dried blood from his chin.

He was stained with it. His skin bleached by the make-up was now reddish-brown, stained with spots and droplets of blood that clung valiantly to the greasepaint. Their eyes met and the Joker let out another wheezy sigh, his tongue coming to pass over his parched lips.

He seemed to hesitate for a second, a strange impression for a man who seemed to be sure of his every move before flashing a toothy grin at Bruce.

"Would, uh, _water_ be too much of a gift, mmh?"

~*~

Right.

What was nourishing enough to give energy to a man who had just lost a large volume of blood but not rich enough to make him ill, what was sufficiently supplied with iron and B9 but in an easily edible form?

Bruce looked through the rays.

He already had a bottle of water, his famous chocolate bars, bandages, and alcohol under his arms and now he was eyeing the cheeses. Chocolate for the necessary glucose supply, alcohol to clean the wounds but he lacked something rich in iron-

Bruce ended up catching two kinds of cheese at random, promising once again to leave his cufflinks on as payment before turning back. He wandered through the aisles, grabbing a bottle of soda as he passed by, perching it in a hazardous balance in his arms before returning to the front of the store.

The Joker was still waiting for him, wheezing and his chest was rising steadily, more slumped than sitting against the wall. Bruce approached, dropping his trophies next to the Joker (except for the bottle of alcohol, which he carefully put down), and quickly began to remove his cufflinks.

The Joker followed him with his eyes.

"That's where you draw the limit, Wayne, _thievery_?" he incredulously asked.

Bruce refused to blush.

"We already destroyed the shop" he muttered without turning towards him. "The least I can do is pay for our... purchases."

" _Incredible."_

Bruce deliberately ignored him, placing the cufflinks on the destroyed countertop. He grimaced. A new thing to note in his schedule for the next day: paying for repairs to the entire store. Maybe it would be more useful to just write a check to the city, he thought as he looked at the clock.

Just over nine and a half hours in order to survive the Purge.

They could do it. As soon as they would find a car-

"Uhmmm- Could you have your existential crisis later mmh? I'm all e _ars_ for it but there are more _pressing issues_. " The Joker crooned with a false cheer. "Seems like my body's quite the traitorous _friend-uh_."

Bruce immediately turned around.

He crouched down beside the man, disregarding the scoff he received, and frowned as he glanced at the torn ear. Bruce immediately grabbed the bottle, popping its cap and the Joker rolled his eyes.

"Now not in three months. I'd do it, but - uh, my arms refuse to _cooperate_ "

Bruce clenched his teeth, his gaze riveted on the injured ear so as not to cross the Joker's gaze. He tore a piece of fabric from his sleeve before soaking it with alcohol, hesitating for a split second. But the Joker's hand suddenly grabbed his wrist-

" **_Now,_ ** Wayne. It's _flattering-uh_ but I'm not made of _sugar_."

Bruce swallowed, nodded slowly before passing the tissue over the destroyed ear. For his honor, the Joker didn't make a sound, simply clenched his jaw - staring straight ahead. Bruce worked quickly, trying to do it gently, wiping the blood off.

He grimaced.

It was really destroyed. Flaps of skin were hanging down; the whole upper part of the ear having been torn off. The pain must have been _excruciating_ \- but the Joker didn't say a word, his jaw tight and his breath coming in a harsh puff. Bruce carefully wiped off all the blood, disinfecting the wound before laying the cloth on the floor and retrieving the bandages.

His fingers brushed against the man's burning skin and Bruce immediately removed them, avoiding the Joker’s gaze and preferring to unroll the bundle of bandage. He stretched it between his hands, taking care to cover the bruised ear, and passed the bandage over the Joker's forehead.

He rolled it up quickly and efficiently.

It was the first time he had to take care of someone else, he suddenly thought, working in silence. The Joker had stolen one of the chocolate bars with his gloved fingers and tore the wrapper off, biting into it brutally. He finished it in a few bites, licking the chocolate off his fingers as Bruce finished wrapping the bandage around his skull and ear.

Several times his fingers grazed the man's burning skin and Bruce forced himself not to react, working methodically. His left hand came back to search for the cloth, fumbling without finding it, and he frowned, lowering his gaze at the man.

" _Here_ , Nurse Ratched.”

Bruce couldn't help but chuckle lightly.

"I hope to have more professional ethics" he teased, retrieving the piece of cloth from the Joker's palm and passing it quickly over the back of his neck to wipe the skin. The Joker did not react, retrieving a new candy bar and, lacking a pin, Bruce duck taped the cloth in place.

It lacked a roll-up net for better protection but - he grimaced. They would make do with what they had on board.

"Done.”

The Joker's eyes lit up and he quickly shook his head like a dog coming out of the water and Bruce's heart missed a beat, a hand reaching out to-

"Uhm, yeah. Looks like it's doing its job" the Joker acknowledged, reaching a hand to pass it along with the bandage. He let it run for a few seconds on the fabric, almost fascinated by the thing before frowning and redirecting his gaze towards Bruce. "Fighter, ninja, nurse. What am I going to learn about you now, Brat Wayne? Pilot, poet, _a commando in the marines_? "

Bruce let out another chuckle.

"Actually I am very fond of speleology."

The Joker snorted.

"Of fucking course. And what else, _water polo_?"

Bruce stretched out a smile that was meant to look desolate but was too uplifted to be anything but amused. He cracked his neck as he straightened up, retrieving one of the chocolate bars before tearing the wrapper. His stomach rumbled at the enticing smell, cruelly reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since lunch.

He bit into the bar. The chocolate melted under his tongue, soft and sweet and he swallowed quickly, strangely satisfied at the taste for such an industrial production. He finished the bar in a few bites, immediately grabbing another one.

Bruce handed the cheese to the Joker, who immediately frowned, incredulous.

"You have strange tastes, Wayne" he scoffed, yet still catching the cheese between his fingers, tearing a piece of it with his hands. "But being picky is hardly an option- _uh_."

"Eat." Bruce simply instructed, struggling with another chocolate bar’s packaging.

"How bossy."

"Bruce Wayne, CEO."

The Joker rolled his eyes, biting into the cheese. He wiped his face with a lapel, removing the remaining blood and revealing a little more of his real face.

"Leave the jokes to me, mmh?" he huffed, rolling his eyes but his slightly amused look contradicting the dryness of his words. He licked thoughtfully his bottom lip, adding blood to his mouthful of cheese, but he didn't seem to mind. "Just sit still and be pretty."

Bruce arched an eyebrow.

"I'll remember it next time we face danger."

The Joker laughed at that, high-pitched and insufferable for the ears but Bruce simply shook his head, finishing his third chocolate bar.

Silence floated for a few seconds, each one concentrated on the food they had between their fingers. Bruce ate silently, only the crumbling of the packages breaking the bubble around them. They should leave soon, Bruce thought. Find another new car. And when Bruce would bring the Joker back to Arkham the next day, he would make sure to get him to see a doctor.

Maybe a surgeon to repair his ear-

It was a stupid thought, completely counterproductive, but he couldn't help but think that the Joker had lost his ear because of Bruce. After all, Bruce had been the one who had pushed the Joker to follow him, who had met him in that alley, if they hadn't crossed paths, if Bruce hadn't so eager to keep an eye on him, to make sure he could limit the number of his victims... but it had been a failure, _there had been deaths_ \- Bruce let out an exhausted sigh. _No_.

No.

It was a thought for the Bruce of tomorrow, where he would have plenty of time to regret his actions of the day before, to remember each death, and to think of all he could have done to prevent them. For now, he simply had to focus on _moving forward_.

Simple tasks. Finding a new car. Going to the Manor.

So simple and yet the night was beginning to prove that it wouldn't be as easy as he had hoped. Bruce wasn't sure why he was surprised. Experience had taught him to always expect the _worst_.

Bruce sighed, glanced at the Joker.

"We'll need to get-" he began.

"No." the Joker brutally interrupted him, putting his piece of cheese down next to him. "We need to go somewhere first."

Bruce's eyes narrowed.

"Where?"

"Well, as much as I like a _non-symmetrical_ profile, abstract _art-uh_ is truly magical sure" the Joker explained with a hand movement. " _I enjoy hearing with both ears_. "

"You want to see a doctor? Now? "

The Joker barked a laugh.

"A _doctor?_ No-no-no-no. Although, one may say _that_. A, Uhm, failed one if you'd rather."

"Where?" Bruce repeated with a frown.

The Joker's smile stretched across his lips, taking on a vicious shine that meant nothing good. His make-up was almost all gone around his eyes but that didn't take away from the intensity of the look he gave him.

And he slowly mouthed :

" _Robinson Park._ "

Oh.

Oh _no_.

~*~

The sky was already adorned with the colors of the night.

The purple and orange hues faded away in favor of less pleasing shades, more characteristic of the Gotham atmosphere. The sky was still streaked with sunlight, still had one foot in the brightness brought by the day. But the night would soon claim its rights to the starless sky.

Alfred had seen skies filled with stars in the past. When he had slept in these tents, there under the scorching sun of the battlefields, when they had exchanged cigarettes, bathed in the peaceful atmosphere of the night.

But Gotham's pollution had removed this possibility.

It was a shame, he thought as he stood in front of the window. The people of Gotham no longer noticed this disappearance, perhaps they had never cared. But for someone who had seen the ethereal beauty that industry had deprived them of, it was a great loss.

Well. He assumed that there were some of those acts that humans had to get used to living with the consequences. And although they were only a shadow of what they could be, the stars were visible from the mansion.

He sighed, closed the curtains. One might as well preserve the sight of those horrible iron curtains that would fall once seven p.m would come.

The Purge.

It was strange how humanity was always pushing itself towards conflict, justifying it with the fear of an even greater conflict. It was a real vicious circle, where fear and terror of violence engendered so-called 'preventive' violence, which in turn created the same violence that it had wanted to repress.

The insatiable thirst for creation and destruction, he assumed.

Alfred sighed a second time. He had left Bruce in the first living room and- although he wouldn't say it out loud for Bruce's sake, Alfred was worried about him.

Since the incident with Rachel, since the one with Harvey Dent, since he had decided not to wear the suit anymore. Or maybe it went back much further. Since he had returned from those years abroad since he first took on the role of the Batman.

Or even further.

When he had been gone. When he had attended the trial of Joe Chill.

When his parents were murdered in that alley.

New sigh. He was beginning to accumulate them, he thought fleetingly, taking care to close the door behind him. He stood still for a few seconds, his mind swarming with a hundred possibilities.

Bruce needed help. Therapeutic, someone who could counsel him, someone who could be there for him where Alfred couldn't be. But to have someone like that, one would need a doctor who was ethical but still willing to give up his principles in order to protect Batman's identity.

And in a city like Gotham, it was an impossible mission.

Alfred released a harsh breath, heading to the second living room. He gently opened the door, as if to warn Bruce of his arrival, but the room was empty. A half-filled glass was still sitting on the coffee table and Alfred smiled softly, without touching it. If Bruce wanted to forget for a moment what that night meant, he wouldn't be the one to lecture him about it.

It was already a success in itself that Bruce had agreed to stay inside the penthouse. But- Alfred pinched his lips. Bruce had always had a passion, a craving for adrenaline. It had been innocent at first, like children looking for a thrill when they dance on the sidewalk or climb up on rocks to proclaim themselves the kings of the world.

But by the time he had returned to Gotham... it had mutated into something far more destructive.

Bruce liked danger. He even indulged in it. He refused to admit it, arguing that Batman was indispensable to administering the justice that Gotham sorely missed, and it was true, but he omitted a part of the truth. The part about what really made him live was putting on the suit and feeling his heart beating in his chest.

Alfred understood. He really did.

He had felt these same sensations in his youth when he had been in the army. But it was necessary to know how to detach oneself from this addiction and put it aside when the time came. And Bruce couldn't do that.

That's why Alfred had been so delighted that Bruce had put the suit aside for a while, that he had agreed to stay in the penthouse tonight. It was the first step towards _healing_. To realize that life was worth living.

He took a look at his watch. Seven hours and two minutes. Alfred didn't bother to hold back his fourth sigh. It was time to make his usual round.

He stepped into the elevator, his hands playing nervously with his collar. This was no longer a habit of his, he had learned to calm his nerves decades before. Dozens of years. The realization seemed like a cold shower to him. The evocation of time always left a bitter taste on his tongue, as if he couldn't realize how fast it had gone.

He forced himself to stand still, slowly detached his hands from his collar. He hated at least as much as Bruce that night, synonymous with barbarism and pure excuse for the governing elites to let the plebeian masses slaughter each other. Horizontal division, a strategic asset that allowed them to avoid reprisals.

It made him nauseous.

The elevator rang with a bell and the doors opened-

" _Ah!_ "

A sledgehammer hit him hard, wrapping his arms around him, and Alfred backed away in shock - _What-_

"He's outside! "the stranger cried, a girl who couldn't have been more than twelve years old- "He's outside and _it's my fault!_ ”

Alfred blinked, slowly tightening his arms around the crying girl. Shivers ran through his body and his heart missed a beat as cold sweats ran down his back. No; no; **_no ;_ **

"Who's outside ?” he asked slowly, realization hitting him like an icy slap. "Bruce? _Bruce_ is outside?"

"He tried to get us inside! But he wasn't quick enough, _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-"_

His heart stopped.

Oh, Bruce, Alfred thought with growing anguish, _what did you do this time?_

_~*~_

Bruce had underestimated how difficult it was to find a car in an empty neighborhood when you were _limping_. He glanced at the Joker, who stubbornly refused to lean on him, and gritted his teeth, continuing to move slowly through the night.

The Joker was clacking, his hand sometimes brushing against his chest and Bruce was almost certain that his first injury, due to the car, was much more serious than he had wanted to admit. He let out a harsh breath, keeping his attention fixed straight ahead.

If they wanted to get to _Robinson Park_ , going there by foot was sheer madness -

He tightened his jaw, even more, continuing to advance silently. Only their breaths broke the silence of the night and that was an advantage, letting them blend easier into the shadows. Bruce turned to make a silent gesture to the Joker, telling him to wait for him here, and moved forward-

Before releasing an exhalation that he was unaware he had been holding -

His eyes drifted to the left, to the right, verifying that they were alone before he rushed down the driveway to a long chain of parked cars. Bruce rushed to check the first one's tires, passing one hand over them; it was a quick check, almost useless but-

No cars appeared to have been damaged.

They had found an alley still untouched, Bruce realized, hope replacing anxiety in his heart. Participants hadn't ventured this far yet; it was a real opportunity. Bruce nodded slowly, turning back to come and retrieve the Joker.

He turned-

Stopped immediately.

The Joker was slumped against a building. The erratic wheezing of his breath had become more pronounced and under the artificial light of the street lamps, his face seemed to have lost two more shades. He immediately turned his head when he heard Bruce, but the gesture was heavy and numb. He blinked his eyes, slowly, and they seemed to pass over Bruce without seeing him, misty.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Bruce suddenly thought, ignoring his reservations to approach the Joker, grabbing his jacket to reveal what the Joker had sworn was not an injury.

" _No-_ " the Joker muttered and Bruce ignored him, abruptly pushing the jacket aside.

The Joker tried to make a gesture to prevent him from doing so but his hand fell back as if deprived of energy-

"Don't "Bruce warned him, quickly raising the suit jacket. He stopped for a second; the shirt, once lavender, was now dyed a dark purple, turning to brown. Bruce exhaled an expletive between his teeth, brushed the wound with his fingers-

And a blade was immediately pressed against his throat.

"I said: _no_ "

Bruce swallowed, the pressure of the blade pressing uncomfortably on his trachea, and pivoted as best as he could to raise his eyes. The Joker returned his gaze, black eyes fogged with pain, teeth gritted and jaw clenched. Bruce made a slight head movement to move the blade away, resulting only in a recess in the blade-

"As. I. Said. I am not made of _sugar._ " The Joker hissed, his claim made false by the veil of sweat on his forehead, by how his eyes refused to focus on Bruce. " _Never_ touch me again Wayne. Did you find a car?"

Bruce gritted his teeth.

"You are bleeding. You n _eed_ medical attention."

The Joker chuckled, but it sounded more like a strangled noise.

"Why do you think we're goin' to Robinson Park? A _fancy_ for the elephants _huh_?"

"You'll find nothing but danger there." Bruce firmly insisted, his eyes drifting to the Joker's injury. Why was he so stubborn, they could just put a bandage on him, at least for now-

"The _car_ , Wayne."

" _Your injury_."

The Joker sneered, almost choking, and pushed the blade further down Bruce's throat. Bruce let out an inaudible noise, the pressure making him breathe with difficulty and he tightened his jaw even more, their eyes plunging into each other’s gaze.

Something must have passed in his eyes, something decisive, something _Batman_ , because the Joker sneered a second time and lowered the blade, putting it away as quickly as it had appeared. The effort seemed to have robbed him of the rest of his energy and he collapsed, his hand clutching his wounded side -

"Why do you care so much _mmh_ ?" he snapped, furious beast pushed to its limits. "Do you think we're f _riends-uh_ ? That I'd return the _favor_ ? That I'll _take care_ of you huh?"

"Nothing like that." Bruce quietly muttered. "There have been enough deaths tonight. "

The Joker barked a laugh, wheezing and sarcastic.

"By the hands of yours truly, did you forgot that _part_?"

Bruce took a deep breath.

No. No, he was far from having forgotten it. No, the very next day, as soon as the Joker would be locked up again in Arkham, Bruce could give it all his thoughts, all his regrets. He knew full well that his actions of that night would horrify him the next day, but it was above all a question of survival.

A question of _priorities._

And the priority of the moment was not to let the Joker bleed to death on the road, no matter how cruel he was. Bruce couldn't. Wouldn't forgive himself. One more, one less, whispered a vicious voice into his brain that he immediately choked out. If he began to accept that death was one of his options, that he could let someone _die_ next to him-

That would be the end of his principles. The end of Batman's raison d'être.

Of Bruce’s.

"At least let me take a look at it." He finally answered, letting out a harsh breath. "And whoever you want to want to meet at the Robinson's Park is, they'll do the rest of the job."

A muscle in the Joker's jaw twitched but he slowly nodded, his gaze resolutely averted as he pushed aside his jacket.

"Be _quick."_

_~*~_

Robinson Park.

Bruce's hand was clutching around the steering wheel, his heart beating a hundred miles an hour, and he couldn't help but keep staring at the passenger seat, at the Joker. Who had turned his face resolutely towards the window, only his wheezing breath breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Bruce had quickly wrapped the bandage around his waist as best he could. It seemed that when the car accident happened, a piece of glass the size of his thumb had been stuck into the Joker's abdomen - Bruce was still wondering how the Joker had been able to move, talk, fight when it had been more than an hour since a piece of glass had been _stuck_ into his body.

But the man was resistant, he thought, looking at him again. His jaw was clenched, refusing to utter a single word. Bruce held back a sigh, redirecting his gaze to the street.

If they were lucky - and Bruce refused to give up his hope - they would reach Robinson Park in less than 15 minutes. He had decided to ignore the limitations, moving through the neighborhoods fast enough that they wouldn't be stopped. All the way to Robinson Park.

His heart was beating at the mention of the place.

Months earlier, the first rumors had appeared.

Rumors that the plants had gone wild, _aggressive._ That it was better not to venture out at night and that some of Gotham's walkers had disappeared. Bruce had taken a quick look at it, gritted his teeth, and read every article on the subject. He had vowed not to put the suit back on and nothing would change his mind but…

But, without being able to help himself, he had kept an eye on these famous rumors. And far from dying out as they often did, they had only grown. The stories had faded, with reporters coming to the place without reporting any problems, the Gotham police also, but-

But the rumors had not subsided. But it was whispered that people continued to disappear if they went there at night, that strange things were happening. Bruce had managed to put this information in a corner of his brain, but the fact that the Joker wanted to meet someone there...

The idea was more than worrying.

They moved quickly through the night, the car spinning through the streets without taking the side of discretion. If Bruce's thoughts were correct, no one would follow them through the night at Robinson Park. Let alone on a Purge night. Which was all the more a bad idea to go there...

He sighed, tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

They came across a few groups of participants, some trying to throw projectiles at the car, but without succeeding in causing any damage. They had had enough car explosions for the night, Bruce thought, his heart still beating in his chest.

The night was silent when they arrived near Robinson Park. An easterly wind was blowing on the trees and not a single sound came from nature as if trapped for eternity in this disturbing frozen state. It was a bad omen, Bruce thought, remembering the thousand and one noises that had filled the park not so long ago.

They parked the car in relative silence, quickly extricating themselves from it. Bruce's hand came to find his weapon, instinctively. They took a few steps forward, trying to get used to the darkness around them.

The vegetation had grown, Bruce suddenly realized. Where there had been seedlings, trees still shy to spread their roots, now proud oaks and well-beaten ash trees were taking their place.

Bruce took another step forward.

In spite of his injury, the Joker cheerfully overtook him, doubling his pace and sinking into the depths of the park. Bruce froze for a second before leaping after him, pulling his hunting knife out of his vest to grab it more firmly.

Here, far from the city and its sticky atmosphere, the silent tranquility of nature should have soothed them.

This was not the case.

On the contrary, far from appearing reassuring, the vegetation surrounding them seemed to cower around them, surrounding them with its green arms in an embrace that had nothing warm about it. Every step they took seemed to drive them deeper into an abyss from which they could not escape, in the ambient darkness who seemed far too impatient to grab them within its sharp claws.

But, indifferent to this atmosphere, or perhaps used to it, the Joker kept moving forward - and Bruce after him.

They advanced in silence.

The Joker didn't seem willing to talk, staring straight ahead as he walked and Bruce didn't feel like breaking the bubble around them either. His footsteps crunched on the leaves and the wind blew in their ears, spreading his icy hands until it touched their faces.

The leaves began to rustle in the trees, a soft murmur that accompanied them. There was something strange around them, Bruce realized, unable to keep his gaze fixed. The park seemed to be devoid of life, a peculiar thing when he knew perfectly well that it housed a zoo within it, and that dozens of species had been released in the park.

They continued to move forward.

The minutes flew by and Bruce began to wonder if they were just going to walk through the park and reach the other side. The Joker was still silent, the sections of his coat tightened against him as he walked and Bruce could almost have found the silence uncomfortable.

But he kept his mouth shut and continued to follow the Joker.

Until he _felt it._

A sudden change of atmosphere, a shiver running down his skin, and the sudden feeling that they were no longer _alone_.

“Stay quiet.” The Joker suddenly said, turning towards him with a slight grin.

Bruce arched an eyebrow but obeyed, too curious to be offended.

A new shiver ran down his back and he clutched his hand on his gun, the adrenaline returning to hit him head-on and-

The voice rumbled like thunder.

" **_What are you doing here?_ ** _"_

* * *

 **Bruce :** takes care of J

 **J :** aw fuck I can't believe you've done this

**Bam, suspense once again! I'm sorry, i can't help myself haha 💖 (and a tip because I find this so cool, I discovered yesterday that on your laptop, the windows key + period key makes the emojis show up! 🦚)**

> A review if you liked it? You are my main source of motivation 😘
> 
> \+ I was bored and did [this](https://skaelds.tumblr.com/post/643355501926760448/the-map-of-gotham-city-im-using-for-our-longest) haha 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me here on Tumblr @skaelds (mood boards, sneak peek, MEMES etc ;) )


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